


Sunray, Take me Away

by Aziraiphale



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt, Emotionally hurt crowley, Gabriel is a dick, Heaven & Hell, Hurt, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I promise they will be happy, Injured Aziraphale, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Torture, hurt!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2020-10-21 06:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20688755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziraiphale/pseuds/Aziraiphale
Summary: Two months have passed since the world was saved from ArmageddonNow, In order to protect Crowley from Hell's wrath, Aziraphale must cooperate with the Higher Ups.





	1. False God

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is going to have recommended listening from my ineffable playlist, which has helped me to write this fic.  
Not all of the songs are from Queen (though many are)  
This chapter was inspired by  
False God - Taylor Swift  
I highly recommend listening to it while you read!

Crowley hated the rain. He always had. Considering his demonic nature, many would expect that he would enjoy, or at the very least appreciate something as mundanely unpleasant as rain. Then again, Crowley had never been much like normal demons – if there was such a thing.

Crowley had first seen Aziraphale in the sunlight of the Garden, radiating so much love he was practically glowing. The first time he had watched him walk away had been in the rain. The first time he’d seen Aziraphale truly sad had been the day God sent the rain to drown all the locals of Mesopotamia. Crowley had been soaked in rain the day Aziraphale’s bookshop burned, the day he thought he’d lost his angel for good.

And now, with the rain pitter-pattering hatefully outside of the window of A.Z Fell & Co., Aziraphale had just given Crowley the news that made him wish he hadn’t been in the Garden the day rain was invented. It was  _ loathsome _ . 

“What in Satan’s name do you mean you’re going back to Heaven?” The demon perched forward in his chair, sunglasses carelessly slipping down the bridge of his nose. Behind them laid a pair of widened serpentine eyes filled with thinly veiled panic and betrayal.

“Well, my dear, they’ve given me quite the promotion Upstairs.” Aziraphale sat calmly, hands folded atop one another in his own chair, sporting a smile that didn’t quite reach his bright blue eyes. “It’s all been finalized with the archangels, but I’m afraid they’ve only given me the news today. I’m to be hard at work by morning. Many duties to be done now that I'll be watching over Earth from Up There. It will be quite a change, I must say.”

“Quite a – Aziraphale, you do remember they tried to burn you into extinction less than two months ago, do you not? Or have they brainwashed that out of you, too?” His voice was gruff, laced with fear and anger.

“Well, they’ve rather changed their minds. Gabriel himself said they’d come to their senses. He agreed it was in poor taste to kill the humans simply to have our war.”

“The only senses they’ve  _ come to  _ are the best ways to pull your wings, Angel! You can’t tell me you  _ believe _ them!”

“Unlike your lot Downstairs, Crowley, Heaven is rather opposed to lying simply to get what they want.” The angel huffed, lips pinched in exasperation. 

_ That hurt.  _ Sure, Hell was full of scheming, lying sleazebags, but Heaven wasn’t much better. They were two sides of the same damn coin, and he had thought Aziraphale was finally ready to be part of a different currency. Crowley tried  _ desperately  _ to find something in those bright blue eyes, some sort of reassurance that the last 6000 years had  _ meant  _ something to the angel; even if it was just a fraction of what it had meant to him. 

_ _

_ *** _

_ Earlier That Morning: _

_ The sky was painted a lifeless grey when Aziraphale heard the bells on his shop door chime. _

_ “Just a moment!” he called cheerfully from the back of his bookshop, where he had been contently enjoying his favourite of Oscar Wilde’s work, a warm cocoa in his free hand. He gently closed the book, placing a mental bookmark before making his way into the front of the shop. _

_ He was aware that his store attracted customers, but was far more pleased when the chime from his shop door meant that he was about to be graced with Crowley’s presence. The presence which, as of late, had been delightfully common. Aziraphale had grown used to seeing the demon saunter into his shop on a daily basis, ever since the apocalypse-averted. _

_ What walked into his shop was far from what Aziraphale considered sent from Grace. Instead it was broad shouldered, dark-haired, and wearing a horribly uninteresting grey suit and scarf. _

_ “Gabriel.” Aziraphale stated plainly, doing very little to hide his distaste. “To what do I owe the displeasure?” _

_ The archangel frowned, but it did nothing to dampen the spring in his step as he approached his ex-employee. “That’s no way to talk to your superior, Aziraphale,” he snapped, pushing past the angel and wordlessly beckoning him into the back room. _

_More worried for the state of his bookshop than whatever business Gabriel was visiting on, Aziraphale followed. There he found the archangel making himself at home in Crowley’s_ _chair._

_ “I do believe we’d agreed that this relationship was no longer that of co-workers,” Aziraphale ground out through clenched teeth. “Much less with  _ you  _ as my superior.” _

_A smile formed on Gabriel’s lips, colder than that of Satan himself_ _._

_ “Well Aziraphale _ ,  _ that’s precisely the  _ misunderstanding _ I’m here to correct.” His words were cool, calculated. “You see, we agreed to leave you and your…demon acquaintance alone; unfortunately, that was with the understanding that you had become something  _ other  _ than an angel. Something almost... human.” _

_ “Yes, and?” Aziraphale said, hoping to hustle the archangel out the door as quickly as possible. Maybe if he was gone within the hour Aziraphale could invite Crowley over in time for morning tea. _

_ “And we have been reliably informed that you tried to pull the wool over our eyes, sunshine.” _

_ Aziraphale’s expression faltered, just for a moment, but it was enough to cause the creeping smile on Gabriel’s face to grow. _

_ “Whatever do you mean – “ _

_ “Cut the act, Aziraphale. We know you switched bodies with that  _ demon _ .” He spat out the words like they’d left a bad taste in his mouth. “Lucky for you, we’ve decided that extinction was far too simple a punishment for an angel as treacherous as yourself.” _

_ Aziraphale, doing his best to feign composure despite the incessant beating of his vessels heart, offered the archangel a polite smile; but despite his best efforts the angel couldn’t stop his mind from racing. _

_ If Heaven knew, then what of Hell? Surely, they must know as well. Where exactly did Crowley fit into all of this? Had they already gotten to him, dragged him off to extinction as Aziraphale spent the morning sipping cocoa? _

_ “What do you intend to do instead, then? Ask me to Fall? I rather think not.” He spoke flatly. Only the twiddling of his fingers threatened to give away the panic coursing through him. _

_ “Of course not, sunshine. We can’t exactly make an example of you if you’re off…consorting with the enemy. No, we intend to punish you in a way that no angel will forget.” _

_ That made Aziraphale’s blood run cold. _

_ “Well, seeing as you’ve come here alone, I struggle to see how you think you’ll get me to accompany you to such an awful fate. People would notice, you know. You may think the humans are simple, but I’m sure they’d notice if my bookshop simply disappeared. Even if you chose to miracle away the memory of every human who I’ve come across – and I must offer you Godspeed with  _ that  _ paperwork – there are some beings on this planet whose memories of me cannot simply be miracled away. I may be  _ soft,  _ as you put it, but I can assure you I can hold my own should you try and drag me-” _

_ “Oh no, Aziraphale. I have no intention of  _ dragging _ you back to Heaven. In fact, I’m very certain you’ll come with me of your own free will.” _

_ “And what in God’s name makes you think I would – “ _

_ “Because we haven’t had the pleasure of informing our Downstairs neighbours of your little trick just yet. We in Heaven are being gracious re-thinking your punishment. I highly doubt Hell would be so kind. They’ll force him into extinction the second they hear the news; However, we are perfectly willing to keep that secret just between us.  _ If  _ you cooperate, that is.” _

_ Oh. _

Hell doesn’t know yet.

_ Crowley is safe. For now. For as long as Aziraphale plays along. Unless – _

_ “How can you assure me that Hell hasn’t – or won’t – find out? It wouldn’t be the first time you teamed up.” _

_ “That was nothing but a temporary alliance. I can assure you they’re unaware of what you really did that day. Our sources are loyal, and all-seeing. Something  _ they  _ don’t have access to Down There.” _

_ All-seeing? Is Gabriel really saying the Almighty Herself is the one orchestrating this whole thing-? _

_ Well, he supposed it didn’t matter. Regardless of the source of their information, so long as Heaven kept it to themselves, Hell would be none the wiser. Crowley would be safe. _

_ Drowning in the silence, Aziraphale willed a solution to come to him, but none did. _

_ When he finally spoke, the Angel’s voice was resigned. _

_ “How will I know that you’re keeping your word?” the angel pressed, trying to steady his trembling hands in his lap. Gabriel sat back in his chair, triumphant. “How will I know he’s safe?” _

_ “We’ll provide you with updates. Your Earthly replacement will keep a distant eye out, ensure that he is safe, and that Hell is none the wiser. Of course, your replacement won’t be consorting like you did. Just keeping a watchful eye out. Should your demon friend attempt to interfere with our Plan, of course, he will be thwarted; But safe nonetheless.” _

_ “I take it you’re willing to make a Heavenly promise, then?” Aziraphale added, unwilling to take the archangel’s word for it.  _

_ “If that’s what it takes, then yes.” Gabriel sighed before raising his right hand to Heaven. “I, Gabriel, fucking archangel of Heaven itself, swear to uphold my word regarding the safety of the demon Crowley, provided that the angel Aziraphale upholds his word to cooperate.”  _

_ His hand glowed white, cementing his promise into his very being. Should he break this promise now, he would be cast out of Heaven once and for all.  _

_ “Satisfied?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he lowered his hand.  _

_ Aziraphale nodded quietly, taking this moment to take a sip of his cocoa, savouring the taste before swallowing. After all, he didn’t know if he’d ever have another chance to enjoy the wonders of food and drink. _

_ “And as for my affairs here on Earth?” He spoke, subdued to his fate. _

_ “You have a day to wrap up your Earthly affairs. Tell your customers of a family member - I believe the humans call it a ‘nephew’ - coming to visit. Tell your…  _ paramore _ of your departure. Tell him you’ve been promoted within our ranks, and should he choose to question it further your replacement has been informed to be consistent with your tale. Leave the shop as is, with the exception of your gross matter. The replacement will not be making use of that. Any other questions?” _

_ Aziraphale shook his head. _

_ “Very well then. I’ll see you at the Eastern Gate Portal at sundown.” _

_ *** _

_ “Unlike your lot downstairs, Crowley, Heaven is rather opposed to lying simply to get what they want.” _

This wasn’t exactly the goodbye that Aziraphale had expected, either. Sure, it wasn’t the first time that he’d seemingly chosen Heaven over his relationship with Crowley, but in the past it had always been in the interest of keeping the demon by his side. Siding with Heaven during the apocalypse in the hopes that they too would wish to thwart the antichrist. Lying about Adam’s whereabouts in the interest of keeping Crowley safe from both Heaven and Hell’s wrath. Even rejecting their relationship and ending what they had, while regrettable in hindsight, had been for the sake of maintaining what they had on Earth, rather than running with the risk of being caught. This was different, this really was goodbye.

Of course, Aziraphale wished he had a way to assure Crowley that, if he could, he would choose to stay. He wished he could say that if he truly  _ had  _ been offered some sort of promotion, he wouldn’t hesitate to decline. By Heaven, he would agree to drop his bookshop, his home, even  _ food  _ if it meant he could stay on Earth by Crowley’s side. Alas, he had resigned himself to a fate without the demon by his side, so long as it meant he was safe. If it took a fabricated promotion to convince the demon to move on without him, Aziraphale supposed it was the only way.

“Besides,” the Angel continued, “This is my chance to really make some positive changes Up There. Don’t think I’ll leave without keeping an eye out for you, my dear.”

Crowley frowned; the stark expression of betrayal clear on his pale features. A pang of guilt flooded through the Angel’s chest.  _ It’s for the best.  _ He reminded himself silently.  _ This is the only way. _

“I see you’ve already started packing,” Crowley spat, his eyes scanning the shop. Clearly, he had noticed the sudden lack of food and drink scattered throughout the bookshop. “No hesitation in your decision, then? One day we’re dining at the Ritz, toasting to the world, and the next you’re leaving it behind for good?”

“I’m not leaving this world behind; I’m simply enjoying it from afar. This may be goodbye, my dear, but don’t think for a second that I don’t –“ The words _ love you  _ caught in his throat. Just for a moment, his voice faltered, but he quickly regained composure, and judging by the steam practically pouring from the demon’s ears, Aziraphale found it unlikely that he had noticed. “- don’t think it means you’re alone down here. After all, I’ll be keeping an eye on your from Up There. Not to mention that many of the humans have taken quite a liking to you. I hear Ananthema is even considering asking you to be a part of her wedding. Do wish her the best for me, will you?” He offered the demon a soft smile, blinking hard against tears that  _ needed _ to stay hidden. In his smile lay a silent blessing of safety and good will for the demon in his absence. It did nothing to quell the anger evidently bubbling in the demon’s veins. Crowley got wordlessly to his feet, attempting to force a look of indifference onto his face.

“Fine then. Goodbye, Angel.”

He turned on his heels, and Aziraphale allowed his features to fall as he drank in the very last moments with his demon as he sauntered angrily from the shop.

“And to you, my dear.” He spoke softly, finally allowing the very human tears to fill his vision, leaving him with the blurred image of black clothes and fiery red hair as Crowley faded into the distance for the last time. He wasn’t usually one for crying, but he supposed if there was ever an occasion deserving of tears, this was certainly it.

Well, he supposed that was it. With Crowley gone, and his regular customers made aware of his estranged nephew that was coming to visit soon to help him watch over his shop, he had no more business to attend to on Earth.

With that acknowledgement, his body seemed to move of its own fruition. He supposed it was a sign that even his vessel understood its fate as it carried him to the portal in the back of his shop. With one final look, Aziraphale drank in his bookshop: at the books stacked lovingly upon his shelves, the tables now emptied of delicious food and steaming hot cocoa, and the chairs in which he and Crowley would sit, sharing drinks, laughs, and at least in the Angel’s case, so much Love. Then, closing his eyes, he stepped towards the portal; He was as ready as he could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big HUGE thanks to my wonderful beta [sometimesineffable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeseffable/pseuds/sometimeseffable) without whom I couldn't have done this. If you enjoyed this I highly recommend you check out her fics - she's an incredible writer!  
I also wanted to shout out my wonderful roommate [Ameera](https://uncletakumi.tumblr.com/) for supporting me as I've been writing, and for constantly calling the archangels the Blessed Bois™ and once even calling them Gabriel and the Gucci Gang  
If you liked this, please leave a koodos or a comment, it means a lot!  
And if you want to keep up with updates, or follow me elsewhere, check out my [Tumblr](http://aziraiphale.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, if you're interested in my ineffable playlist that helps me write, you can check it out on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7K5JtrZ6IVLE3FRQF0CyRF?si=GYSyHRY7RLKdrOSaK3SwOg)


	2. Let Me in Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening for this chapter: Let Me in Your Heart Again by Queen  
OR feel free to listen to my ineffable playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7K5JtrZ6IVLE3FRQF0CyRF?si=GYSyHRY7RLKdrOSaK3SwOg)

Crowley was _ fuming. _He stomped his feet like a child down the busy Soho streets, elbowing pedestrians out of his way as he went.

How could Aziraphale do this? After everything they’d been through together – this was how he said goodbye? With less than a day’s notice and a _ see you never. _

The two of them had spent so much time together since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. Crowley had been by the bookshop nearly every day for the two months since the Switch. Hell, maybe he had imagined it, but he could have sworn that there was something different between them: something new and _ exciting _ . They could spend hours together without ever feeling tired of the others presence. There had been a sort of tension between them, communicated in longing glances and lingering touches. Sure, Crowley had fallen for the Angel quicker than he’d fallen into Hell itself, but it had never felt quite as _ real _as it had these past months.

If he was honest, Crowley had no idea _ what _ he and Aziraphale were at this point, but he sure as Hell thought he’d deserved more than _ this. _

And to leave him for Heaven of all places. The way they treated him Up There was _ disgraceful _. The condescending tone that Gabriel took with him every time they spoke, the careless way in which he insulted the Angel, but nothing was worse than the way they treated him at his “trial”. From what Crowley had heard, at least Hell had given him the chance to defend himself – but Heaven? They didn’t even give him the chance to speak.

_ “Don’t talk to _ me _ about the Greater Good, sunshine.” _

To throw Aziraphale away like that? Like he was nothing? It was _ hateful. _

Crowley couldn’t _ bear _ the thought of Aziraphale needing to report to _ that _every day for the rest of eternity. At least down here he had been free of the ass-angels scorn. The whole point of the Switch – well, aside from surviving, of course – had been to give their respective ‘sides’ a reason to stay away from them. It was their chance to finally be on their own side, just the two of them against Heaven and Hell.

So much for that.

Now Aziraphale would constantly be under their scrutiny, forced to report to the very leaders who, just two months ago, had literally attempted to murder him.

_ “Shut up and die already.” _

Crowley stopped in his tracks, glanced around and saw that his thoughts had taken him just a few blocks from the bookshop on foot. No, he couldn’t let this stand. He couldn’t let Aziraphale go back to those assholes. Even if what he was getting was a ‘promotion’ in Heaven, Crowley couldn’t just sit back and allow his best friend to be pushed around by those feather-fuckers Upstairs.

Crowley turned on his heels with new found determination. Aziraphale had said that he was expected to be working by tomorrow. Surely, he hadn’t left quite yet.

Minutes later, Crowley yanked open the door to Aziraphale’s bookshop. The books were all still there. Good. There was absolutely no _ way _Aziraphale would leave those behind, no matter how scrutinous his superiors were about Earthly possessions.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called as he stormed into the shop, making his way directly to the back.

Upon turning the corner at the back of the shop, Crowley noticed a man in a beige suit bent over a stack of Nostradamus’ prophecies – one of Aziraphale’s favourites. Relief flooded the demon.

He was still here.

“Aziraphale, thank Someone you’re still here, I-“

The man stood up at the sound of the demon’s voice, turning to face him with a pleasant smile on his face; a man who wasn’t Aziraphale. This was a much younger looking man with light skin and mousey brown hair. His beige pants resembled those that Aziraphale wore, but he wore a plain, hip length blazer with a white button up beneath it.

Crowley stopped short.

“You-“ he began, struggling to speak through the lump that had formed in his throat. Ridiculous human vessels, always betraying him in times when it mattered.

“I fear my uncle has begun his nightly slumber, as we humans require.” The younger man said pleasantly, a wave of angelic energy radiating off of him. Every angel had one. Aziraphale’s was a soft, blue energy that almost glowed. It smelled of a warm spring day, and it was undeniably radiating pure love. Gabriel’s on the other hand was grey, dripping with wrath and a sense of – misplaced in Crowley’s opinion – Importance.

_ This _ was not Aziraphale – this angelic energy was a soft yellow, with hints of holy fire, and retribution cracking through the surface. They’d replaced his Angel _ already _. Not only that, but he’d left his books behind.

“My name is Nathanael Fell, can I be of assistance, sir?” The strange angel continued to speak, much to Crowley’s dismay. Every word from this lowly replacements lips just served as another reminder that Aziraphale really was _ gone _. 

Crowley stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stuttered out an excuse,

“Have to go…cat’s on fire… big problem… need to…”

Having reached the doorway to the backroom, Crowley turned – or rather, tripped 180 degrees out the door, and found himself running to the bookshop exit.

***

When Aziraphale reached the Heavenly side of the Eastern Gate Portal, Gabriel and two other young angels were already there to greet him. A spark of recognition struck him as he remembered these two from the front lines, right before the apocalypse was meant to happen.

_ “Not even a _ body _ you pathetic excuse for an angel!” _

_ “I suppose I am. I have no intention of fighting in any war.” _

_ Several heads turn to look at him, he takes in the two in the front – a young angel with yellow-blonde hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes, and another with taupe skin and hazel eyes. _

Those same faces now look at him with disdain, blue and hazel eyes both narrowed at his form. Between the two of them they held a long set of platinum chains. _ Ethereal platinum. _ A chain that would hold not only his corporeal form, but his true form as well. Even if he should discorporate, they would keep him imprisoned within them. He had only _ heard _of such a device 6000 years ago, just before he was sent to guard the Garden of Eden. They had once been used to hold prisoners during the First Great War between Heaven and Hell.

With a snap of Gabriel’s fingers, the chains clasped around Aziraphale’s neck. The moment the chains touched his skin, he felt every ounce of energy being drained from his body. His knees buckled, and he stumbled on unsteady feet. No longer able to conceal them, his wings burst forth from the ethereal plane.

_ Of course _. He remembered this from legend: being held within chains of ethereal platinum, he lost his ability to perform miracles of any sort, preventing him from concealing his wings. While they didn’t fully cut off his connection to Her, his angelic power felt stunted, like a part of his true self had been sucked out of him. During the First Great War they had been used to prevent prisoners from making miraculous escapes, as well as to prevent them from healing their injuries. Now they were to be used to hold him for eternity.

“Right then traitor, off you go.” Gabriel said cheerily, nodding to the younger angels, one of whom still held the end of his chain in their hands while the other moved to grasp Aziraphale roughly by his shoulder, practically dragging him into a forward march. He felt as though his body was being dragged through molasses as unsteady limbs refused to cooperate with his mind’s commands. With a frustrated grunt, the hazel-eyed angel grasping his shoulder gave him a light push, causing him to finally stumble forward on uncooperative feet.

_Well,_ he thought, _there was certainly no turning back now._

***

_ Oh my love, I want you to stay _

_ Don't leave me now or I just fade away _

_ Oh my love don't hurt me this way _

_ Let me in your heart again _

The Queen ballad blasted from the Bentley’s speakers, but Crowley couldn’t really hear it. Numbness had washed over the demon’s body, leaving him unable to enjoy the song the Bentley had chosen for him. He had never been as big a fan of the gloomy ones anyway.

He hardly remembered parking his car that night, much less staggering his way down the street and up to his flat. His mind remained entirely devoid of thought until the door of his flat swung shut behind him.

Yellow eyes found the greenroom filled to the top with disgraceful, drooping green plants. Crowley’s blood boiled.

“What?” he demanded, voice dripping with anger. “You think just because he’s gone you can _ betray _me like this?” 

Crowley picked up his green spray bottle from where it sat on the greenroom table, pointing it threateningly at the plants that _ dare _question him.

“You think that you have the _ right, _ after he’s abandoned me to Heaven of all places, to _ droop _ ?” The volume in the demon’s voice was increasing as he approached a particularly low-hanging plant. “Aziraphale gives me a _ day’s _ notice before FUCKING OFF for an eternity, leaving me here with nothing but a room full of DISGRACEFUL,” Crowley ripped a drooping leaf from the plant nearest him, “DISGUSTING,” He threw the spray bottle against the wall, water dripping down the grey paint as the plants shook with terror, “TRAITOROUS _ PLANTS.” _He wasn’t even conscious of the fact that he had thrown his sunglasses at the wall until he heard them smashing, glass clattering unceremoniously to the floor.

It was with horror that the demon realized he was crying. Tears spilled forth from Crowley’s eyes. Entirely unable to stop them, Crowley collapsed to his knees, slamming his fists against the floor in despair.

Aziraphale was gone. He was really, truly gone. Not even a day’s notice that he was never going to see his Angel, the only light left in his dark, demonic life, ever again.

Just a few minutes after his departure and they’d already replaced him, given the humans someone new to bless them with Angelic light. He knew he was a demon, but he’d thought maybe, just _ maybe _ Aziraphale had been some sort of sign from Her. An apology for throwing him away simply because he asked questions. Now he was certain that Her plan all along had been to offer him the ability to love once more, only to have it ripped from him before he even got the chance to say it. She would let Aziraphale enjoy the rest of his eternity in Heaven where he belonged, while Crowley spent forever here on Earth, suffering and _ desperately _alone.

***

Nathanael’s first two days on Earth had gone swimmingly. He’d met a number of the locals, told them of his “uncle” passing suddenly in his sleep the night after he arrived. Many appeared saddened, much to Nathanael’s surprise. He had always assumed that the Traitor would have stood out as _ dirty _ to the humans; however, their enjoyment of his predecessor certainly made his job as his replacement a lot easier. He greeted them with friendly smiles, showed them around the shop, and reminded them of the word of God: Do not question the Great Plan, do what you can for the Greater Good, and of course, seek vengeance against the traitorous. Vengeance was his specialty after all.

He was confident that this new position would be – oh, what was the expression the humans had given for a simple task? A stroll through the recreational garden? Yes, that sounded about right. Sure, he was disappointed to be missing out on the demonstration of vengeance against the Traitor, but he was more than happy to be on the Earthly side of things, ensuring that everything went according to the Plan.

“And don’t forget, if you make a mistake God _ will _ punish you for it in due time!” he called after a customer who rushed out the bookshop doors. She had barely been in there thirty seconds before scurrying out, and Nathanael gave himself a mental pat on the back for an efficient job done spreading the word of God. He suspected that she would be his final customer of the night – mortals were so _ simple _with their need for sleep.

As if on cue, the opening of the doors to the shop alerted him to the arrival of another Heavenly being dressed in white, her dark brown hair tied up tightly above her head.

“Archangel Michael, it’s a pleasure to see you!” He smiled warmly, relieved to see another of his kind again. The humans were lovely, but they weren’t exactly interesting. All those human emotions and misconceptions were certainly _ annoying. _“How are you, how are things Up There?”

“I am well, Nathanael. I take it your shop is to be empty for the night?” She asked, her expression serious as usual – she was the Commander of the archangels after all.

“Yes! Sandalphon said that after nightfall the humans require sleep for six to eight hours. They will all be finding their beds at this time.”

Michael nodded. “Very well then, let us speak in the back room.”

The two settled in chairs at the back of the bookshop, the faint scent of Evil lingering between them. Nathanael hadn’t quite been able to get that out, yet, but he supposed this was where the Traitor spent most of his time fraternizing.

“The Traitor has been taken into custody. He was directed by Gabriel to finish all of his business on Earth before returning to us, so there should be no loose ends left down here.”

“Has the punishment started yet?” Nathanael asked eagerly, eyes wide with excitement.

“He has been put into his ethereal chains and placed outside of Head Office, but the true example has not begun yet.”

Nathanael nodded, trying not to let the disappointment be evident on his features. He would not be one to question the Commander archangel, but he _ had _hoped she would have something a little more interesting than that at this time.

“And what of you, Nathanael? You have been down here for two days – how is business with the mortals?”

“Ah, yes! Things have been going smoothly on this end. Let’s see, the humans haven’t asked any questions. I’ve been instilling the Word of God into any who pass. Oh, and the demon Crowley passed by right after my arrival.” He added with a grin. Michael raised her eyebrows.

“Oh?” she inquired.

“Yes! He looked fairly distraught. Had it not been for the demonic scent I would have mistaken him for a mortal, all those human emotions so clear on his face.”

“Right – no questions, though?” She pressed.

“None. He was hardly here for a minute before he staggered out of the shop. I do believe my angelic presence was too much for him. He must be far too used to spending time with a _ corrupted _angel that my Goodness was overwhelming.”

“Look, Nathanael. I know that you and Gabriel have been planning this for the past two months, but are we absolutely sure that letting the demon be is the best option?”

The angel nodded, eager to prove himself to his superior.

“Absolutely certain, archangel Michael. It will ensure the Traitor’s cooperation in Heaven. He wouldn’t dare make an escape attempt, much less a renouncement if he knows that his paramore is on the line. Besides, what better way is there to punish a traitor than to force him to watch as the one he strayed for moves on without him?”

Michael didn’t look entirely convinced.

“But how can we be sure that the demon is moving on without the angel by his side?”

“He doesn’t _ really _ have to move on, but he wouldn’t dare try anything self-destructive if he thinks the Traitor is watching over him from his new promotion. All _ we _must do is make sure we can capture the demon at the right times; those small moments of happiness that even the saddest creatures experience every once in a while. Show the Traitor those moments, and we’ll have him locked in for an eternity.”

Having been so caught up in his explanation, Nathanael nearly missed the sound of the bookshop doors clattering shut. He and Michael both looked at one another before Nathanael sprang to his feet to catch the culprit who was betraying their bed to enter his bookshop after dark; but by the time he reached the front room once more, any sign of a human having entered his shop now gone into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathanael - angel ruling over hidden things, fire and vengeance.
> 
> A thousand thanks again to my incredible beta [sometimesineffable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeseffable/pseuds/sometimeseffable) and to my incredible roommate [Ameera](https://uncletakumi.tumblr.com/) for always supporting me and laughing at my dumb jokes!  
If you enjoyed it, leave me a comment or a kudos, or feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](http://aziraiphale.tumblr.com)


	3. Love, Don't Leave Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Insp by: Love of my Life by Queen

Heaven’s Head Office was a busy place. Angels, cherubim, throni, and archangels alike bustled to and from its main entrances, some carrying piles of paperwork, others (literally) counting their blessings as they spoke through headsets in rushed tones about where and when blessings were needed. While it certainly wasn’t a peaceful part of Heaven, Head Office had always had a pristine nature about it. It was, after all, the hub for all things Holy.

That was why Aziraphale felt so strange and out of place; sitting on the glass tile floor, chain round his neck, attached to the wall nearest Head Office’s largest entrance. 

Aziraphale knew that Heaven intended to make an example out of him, but he had never expected his ‘punishment’ to be so… _ public. _ Judgemental, angry, sometimes even fearful eyes were constantly watching him as the angels moved about their everyday business.

They had miracled his beloved suit away and changed him into a tattered white garment, quite similar (though certainly not in cleanliness) to the one he wore 6000 years ago in the Garden. It felt strange that they had taken his human clothes, but he supposed it was meant to represent his dirtiness as a traitor to the Great Plan. It really was a shame that the tattered garments provided by Heaven didn't come in tartan. Though, come to think of it, he wasn't entirely sure he would much like Heaven's interpretation of tartan. Certainly not if it was anything like the dreadful army uniforms he'd seen the angels wear the day of Armageddon. 

All things considered, though, his first week in Heaven certainly hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. For the most part he felt as though he was really just there for show. Something that the other angels could gawk at, a reminder of why they should obey each order without question. 

He certainly couldn’t say his week had been entirely free of pain or discomfort. It was obvious that Aziraphale was not viewed favourably Up Here by many of the angels. He had more than one approach him, angrily announcing that they were set to be a general, captain, or major in the War, and that his traitorous ways had forced them to return to their desk jobs filing paperwork or inputting miracles to databases. While Aziraphale understood their upset at having lost a sense of power, he didn’t particularly understand why being in the front lines of a Great War, constantly facing fear of torture or extinction at the hands of Hell, was better than working at a desk. Especially if that desk job involved spreading good throughout Heaven and Earth.

Some angels simply shouted very rudely at Aziraphale as they passed by, telling him he was a useless angel, or a dirty fraternizer, neither of which were untrue. Other angels preferred a more physical approach to express their anger. Many spat on him as they passed, and Aziraphale found himself grateful that they had not chained his hands so he could wipe away their  _ distasteful _ attempts at vengeance. The angels that were angry with him  _ had  _ been preparing for eleven years to fight in the War to end all wars, so he understood that they had some pent up anger, but the angels that Aziraphale disliked most were those who took out their anger at him through physical violence. 

Though these angels were far and few between, he still found his head occasionally spinning after an angel decided that a kick to the stomach was the best way to show him how disgraceful he truly was. Some chose to pluck feathers from his wings as they crossed past him, like they were a child and he was a tree full of low-hanging leaves. It was painful, of course, but nothing that the angel couldn’t handle. Though, he had to admit, it  _ was  _ frustrating to not be able to heal the injuries to his vessel using miracles. Instead he had to live with the bruises blossoming around his ribs, careful when he laid down not to aggravate them. He made an effort to keep his wings preened and clean, brushing his feathers forward in an attempt to cover the smaller balding patches. He did wish he could simply tuck them back into the ethereal plane again, but for now he settled for tucking them in as neatly as possible behind his back. 

Aziraphale had also taken note of the fact that none of the other angels who spoke to him referred to him by his name anymore. In fact, they even avoided referring to him as an angel. Instead, most seemed to prefer to call him The Traitor, as though he was deserving of no other title. 

It was rather uncreative.

Despite all of this, Aziraphale had to admit that the worst part of his first week had been how much he missed the smaller things back on Earth: food, books, bestowing blessings. Most achingly, however, Aziraphale missed Crowley. He knew they’d certainly gone more than a week in the past without speaking to one another – in fact, they had, more than once, gone hundreds of years without the other’s company - but Aziraphale had grown used to the demon’s near-constant presence as of late. 

For eleven years they had passed by one another constantly as they tried to instill Warlock with their opposing values. The impending-apocalypse had been spent side by side, sometimes even hand in hand, and the months that followed were spent daily in each others presence. Now only a week without the demon’s presence made Aziraphale starkly aware that a part of him was missing – a part that, in its absence, was almost as draining as the loss of connection to his ethereal abilities.

He was an angel of love, after all. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to admit how he felt. He loved Crowley. Aziraphale loved Crowley with every fibre of his angelic being. He would’ve given just about anything to have a life with him, but he wasn’t willing to risk the demon’s safety. It would have been selfish to tell Crowley how he really felt before he left. It wouldn’t have made his departure any easier on Crowley, and it would have put the demon in danger of finding out that his promotion was fabricated, leading him straight into Hell’s grimy hands. 

Yes, it was certainly better this way. This way, he was the only casualty, watching the one he loved from afar. They had promised him updates on the demon, after all. He knew his time here was meant to be anything but enjoyable, but he had certainly been looking forward to  _ any  _ information on how Crowley was faring in his absence.

That was why, when an official-looking angel with dark hair and eyes holding a clipboard approached, Aziraphale found himself perking up. 

“Traitor.” The angel said, looking down at Aziraphale like he was a piece of gum that had gotten stuck to his shoe.

“Good day. How are you today?” Aziraphale asked with a pleasant smile, fingers twiddling in anticipation.

“You’re supposed to come with me.” They stated, ignoring Aziraphale’s question, features scrunched up in apparent disgust. They snapped their fingers so that Aziraphale’s chains were in their hand rather than attached to the wall.

“Let’s go.” The angel yanked on the chain, forcing him to his feet. It was still uncomfortable, but he’d been growing used to the draining feeling caused by his ethereal chains. Steadying himself, Aziraphale followed.

***

Crowley woke up in his greenroom to find his face stuck to the floor, drool dripping slowly from his lips, acting as an adhesive sticking his skin to the black tile.

“Ngh,” grumbled Crowley, peeling his face off the floor and rolling onto his back. He noted with antipathy how puffy his eyes were as he rubbed a sluggish hand over them. How long had he been asleep?

He distinctly remembered tears running down his face, he remembered yelling at his plants until his voice was raw. Crowley even remembered exhaustedly curling up on the tile floor, eyes drifting to the setting sun outside his window, too tired to carry himself to his bed. He must have fallen asleep soon after, and judging by the barely rising sun outside his window, he had slept at least through the night.

It wasn’t that Crowley disliked sleep, he had slept through most of the fourteenth century after all; but lately he hadn’t felt the desire to sleep very often. Most of his time was spent at the bookshop, in the park, or in various restaurants with Aziraphale. The only time the demon had come home to his flat had been to check in on his plants to be sure they weren’t betraying him in his absence. Crowley would have invited Aziraphale by his own flat, but his plants had taken on a revolting sort of pink glow and there was no  _ way  _ he would allow the angel to see them in that state. 

Still, even when Crowley came home from feeding the ducks or a day at the bookshop, he had been too engrossed in the feelings they’d shared to sleep. He would often find himself wandering around his flat, absent-mindedly spraying his plants and thinking about how Aziraphale finally seemed to be comfortable with moving just a little bit faster. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale necessarily felt…  _ it  _ the same way Crowley did, but it was hard to deny that there had been something between them.

The demon moved to stand up, swaying where he stood for a moment before moving into a saunter around his flat. He glanced up at his plants, which had clearly taken a note from his outburst earlier as they stood up straighter than ever.

“Don’t think I’ll let you off easy just because you’ve stopped drooping.” He growled at them, the menace in his voice slightly lost to the sleep-laced lump in his throat. He then moved to saunter into the main room of his flat. Upon entering the living room, he noted the flashing light indicating that someone had left him a message on his answering machine. Momentarily his heart fluttered. No one other than Aziraphale ever called him, save for the occasional telemarketer. He sauntered toward the machine and saw that there were six messages waiting for him.

Was it possible that it had all been a horrendous nightmare? Had he simply fallen asleep for a few days and left the angel wondering where he’d gone, leading him to leave these messages on his machine? Of course, demons didn’t really have nightmares, they just  _ caused  _ them, but if he had to guess what one felt like, this would  _ certainly  _ be it. After all, what was worse than the only being he’d ever truly loved leaving him for the place that had thrown him into a pool of boiling sulphur more than 6000 years ago?

Hope fluttered in the demon’s chest as he pressed PLAY on the answering machine.

“Hi Crowley. It’s Anathema.”

Hope, what a  _ useless  _ emotion. Existing only to be shattered in a moment. 

“I’m calling because I heard about Mr. Fell’s death from Mr. Young. Apparently, he stopped by the shop to find that his nephew took over after he passed in the night. I wanted to check in on-“

Crowley skipped to the next message, not able to bear this. Aziraphale had faked his death, meaning he had no plans to even visit Earth again.

“Crowley, it’s me again. Can you call me back? I’m just worried about how you’re handling-“

_ Click. _

_ _ “Hi Mr. Crowley. It’s Adam. We all heard about your husband from my dad, and we wanted to see if you were OK-“

_ Click. _

“If you won’t call me back you can come over anytime. Newt and I don’t have much on aside from wedding planning and we’re happy to keep you company if you’re-“

_ Click.  _

“Answer your phone, Crowley. I know Aziraphale is… not around anymore, but I won’t stand by while you’re in pain. It’s ok to talk to-“

_ Click. _

“It’s been  _ six days.  _ If you don’t call me back by tomorrow, demon, I won’t hesitate to break down your door, and I swear to God, or Satan if you prefer, that if you’ve gone and done something  _ stupid-“ _

_ Click. _

“You have no more messages. To replay-“

Crowley clicked STOP on the machine.

Well, that answered the question of how long he’d been asleep. Six days into his slumber the witch had left him the threats, and judging by the fact that his flat hadn’t been broken into he assumed the sun hadn’t yet risen on day seven.

Groaning, Crowley glanced at his reflection in the glass of his doorway. His face was red, eyes puffy from crying, hair sticking up in every direction. With a snap of his fingers he miracled his hair into place, and then pulled out a pair of fresh sunglasses from his pocket to cover the horrendous mess he’d made of his eyes. 

He was going to see Anathema.

***

Aziraphale was led into the main entrance of Head Office, greeted by a number of open-mouthed stares from other angels passing by. It was a crowded office, so it was unsurprising that as he staggered on he was bumped a few times by angels who pushed through crowded hallways to get to work. Though Aziraphale couldn’t be entirely certain, he had a feeling that more than one had made a show of giving him an extra hard shove as they pushed past. Regardless, the angel forced himself to remain steady as he walked, doing his best to keep his expression neutral, even offering the occasional smile to those who made an effort to steer out of his path. He may have been in captivity, but he had standards, and he certainly had no intention of being impolite to people he didn’t even know.

After a few minutes of weaving through crowds and narrow hallways, the two angels stopped in front of a large room in the middle of Head Office. This was the area closest to the archangels offices, a spot where many who worked day and night in Heaven would stop for their breaks. They didn’t require lunch or rest in the same way humans did, but as social creatures they certainly enjoyed taking some time to get together with fellow angels to discuss the good deeds and hard work they’d been doing. Luckily, Aziraphale was led into a large, windowless room in the middle of this atrium, leaving him free from the glares and stares of fellow angels for the first time since he’d arrived.

“Sit here.” The angel leading him demanded, yanking on his chain for good measure. Aziraphale stumbled and moved to sit quietly where he had been told. “Right then, Traitor. Eyes on the wall.” They gestured to the nearest wall before snapping their fingers.

An image appeared, and suddenly Aziraphale was frozen, not even blinking. He was completely captivated by the image on the screen. There, in a fairly grainy image that appeared to be captured through the window of a small cottage, sat Crowley at a wooden dining table. He faced away from Aziraphale, wearing a wrinkled black jacket, his red hair slightly tousled, as if he’d been running nervous fingers through it repeatedly.

“Is this happening right now?” Aziraphale asked, transfixed. The other angel gave a curt nod, lips pressed together in a thin line.

Across from the demon sat Anathema and Newt, between them was a small breakfast of bread and fresh fruit. While he was unable to see the demon’s face from where he sat, Aziraphale was relieved to see a smile on Newt’s face. Anathema looked slightly less amused than her fiancé, but then she rarely had much more than a small grin on her face. Seeing Crowley out with their friends, eating, laughing,  _ moving on,  _ it caused his heart to flutter. Though it also caused a small knot in the angel’s chest to see his demon move on without him, it was nothing compared to the relief at seeing him safe, and more importantly  _ happy. _

“Right, that’s more than enough.” The official-looking angel said, snapping their fingers to remove the image that had completely mesmerized Aziraphale. It had only been up for a few seconds, but it had managed to put Aziraphale at ease, even if it had just been for a moment.

“Now that that’s over, someone  _ important  _ actually wants to talk to you.” The angel said, the ghost of a grin crossing their lips for the first time since they’d approached him. “Though I doubt there’ll be a whole lot of talking once he gets here.”

As if on cue, there was a quick knock on the door before it was pushed open by a younger-looking angel with light skin, mousey-brown hair and a yellowish aura simply dripping with a thirst for vengeance.

“Hello, Traitor. I’m Nathanael.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively to my ineffable playlist: my roommate made a hilarious playlist called "The Super Special Effable Playlist" specifically for this fic on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5tY79RkA2s4aCa0GeoczPP?si=_6Nu6hbQSKm_ar7IRyBErA&fbclid=IwAR3_v262Vgfm94yxpgz4KA0stICo1G2xoVGJRu_to7ixih9dEvDUfYhBFcg) if you want to give it a listen


	4. Loved you Like a Heartache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this is the chapter where those graphic depictions of violence start to apply  
Stay safe, loves <3  
Recommended song for this chapter is "Bones Break" by EXES

_ A witch without a body stood (as much as someone without a body  _ could  _ stand) in a large, endless room with pristine white walls and a ceiling made of glass. The sound of fists pounding on the glass caused the witch to look up. A desperate silhouette was pressed against the thick glass on the floor above.The figures image was obscured, making it impossible to discern their features. The blurred shape appeared to be mostly human aside from two large shapes protruding from its back, almost like wings. _

_ Anathema tried to call out to the silhouette, to ask them why they were pounding their fists so loudly on the floor, but she found that she had no voice. The sound became more desperate, but every time the witch tried to reach out to it, she found herself being pulled farther and farther away. The noise remained vivid in her ears as she fell downwards. The pristine white room that had surrounded her faded into blackness, and the weightless feeling that had encompassed her body was replaced with the feeling of something warm and heavy pressed against her chest. _

Anathema awoke in her bedroom, tangled in a mess of blankets, her arms wrapped around her deeply sleeping fiancé. Though she was now awake, and the memories of her dream were fading, the sound of pounding fists didn’t stop. She realized sluggishly that someone was knocking on her front door.

She turned to glance at the clock beside her bed and groaned with the realization that it was only half past five in the morning.

“I’m coming!” The witch stumbled out of bed; her voice raspy from misuse in the night.

She pulled on a cotton night robe and her glasses, then threw a pillow at her sleeping fiancé’s head to wake him up before rushing to the front door and pulling it open. 

On the other side of that door stood a very disheveled looking demon. One hand was still raised in a fist, ready to continue pounding on the glass windows of the door, the other was running shaking fingers through red hair. Half of his face was a faint red, as though it had been pressed against the floor for a long time, and his usually well-kept clothes were a wrinkled mess.

“Demon.” Anathema greeted, squinting to get a better look at the demon’s aura. The usual fierce red aura had lost the soft pink tinge that had begun to appear around its edges every time she saw the demon with his angel. Instead, the pink was replaced with a deep, heartbroken blue that pushed through the edges, causing the red centre to take on a weak purple colour. She frowned, angry that it had gotten this bad without him coming to her.

“Book girl.” The demon greeted back, placing shaking hands into his pockets, clearly trying to put on a mask of nonchalance.

“Where the  _ hell  _ have you been for six days?” She bit out, doing nothing to hide the fierce anger in her voice. “We’ve been worried sick about you. It was hard enough for us to lose one friend this week, and I  _ know  _ he meant a lot to you, but he meant something to us too. And then you up and disappear for six days, leaving us to wonder if we’re going to be mourning your loss, too. You’d better have a good excuse for putting us through that. For putting poor  _ Adam  _ through that. He’s only eleven and we’ve had to explain to him and his friends why you might not be coming back. Get talking, demon. It’d better be good.”

The demon in question shifted uncomfortably as a very tired and confused looking Newt rounded the corner to join his fiancée at the door.

“Mhg,” Crowley grumbled. “I forgot how short human lives are. Six days is a long time for you lot. Slept for the better part of a century once, but I didn’t have any human… acquaintances back then to get all up in arms about it. S’pose I could’ve warned you, but then I didn’t  _ expect  _ to be asleep for six days.” He paused, glasses-covered eyes flicking between the glaring witch and the very confused non-computer-engineer. “Sorry.” He finally added, his gaze quickly finding the floor.

“Come in, demon.” Her expression softened slightly as she shifted from the doorway and gestured into the dining area. The demon followed her invitation and walked into the kitchen of jasmine cottage, leaning against the large window that looked out into the yard where the sun had just barely begun to rise. He eyed a small yellowish bird on the windowsill, not looking back at the witch. She knew emotions weren’t easy for him, and his discomfort was visible.

Anathema followed Crowley into the kitchen’s dining area, not regretting a word of what she’d said. It may have been hard to hear, but it was necessary. She settled into a chair at the table facing the window, drinking in the momentary silence between them.

“Hold on,” Newt’s voice broke that silence, stuttered and awkward as ever. Despite herself, Anathema couldn’t help but grin slightly at his incredible inability to bear silence. “You were  _ asleep  _ that whole time? For six days? How is that even – wait, scratch that. You said you’ve slept the better part of a  _ century  _ before?”

“Mm,” Crowley responded, not taking his eyes off the bird outside, which was now pecking at a worm in the planter outside the window. “Demons and angels don’t actually  _ need  _ sleep. We don’t need a lot of things that humans do. Course, we  _ can  _ sleep. Aside from dreaming, which we demons don’t really do, our sleeping is the same as yours. ‘Cept, because we don’t need to wake up to eat, or use the loo or anything, we can just sleep for a longer time. I slept through most of the fourteenth century because it was a  _ dreadful  _ time to be awake. Got sick of it one day ten years in and decided I would take a little nap. Woke up in 1401, just in time for William Sawtry to be burned at the stake. Come to think of it, the fifteenth century wasn’t the greatest either. The whole burning people at the stake business was a mess. Spent a lot of time with the ducks then-”

“So that’s what you did this time? Just decided to take a little nap and woke up six days later?” Newt asked, cutting him off from the usual tangent. 

“Mhm,” Crowley nodded.

“Right. I think it’s too early for this.”

“Why don’t you make us breakfast, dear. I think we’ve got some bread and fruit around here, no electronics required.” Anathema offered, reaching out her hand to meet Newts. He wrapped his fingers around hers and she gave his hand a quick squeeze. He nodded and started moving about the kitchen to prepare them something to eat.

“So,” said Anathema finally, eager to get the demon talking. “What actually  _ happened _ ? Not with the sleep, I understand that bit. With the angel, I mean. Mr. Young told us he passed in his sleep. Old age, he’d said. But being…what you are, you don’t just go dying of old age every hundred years, do you?”

Crowley spun on his heels, away from the yellowish bird which had stopped pecking at the worm and was instead staring fearfully at the demon through the window. Crowley pulled up a third chair and plopped himself down in it.

“He got a…  _ promotion _ in Heaven.” The demon glowered, sinking further into his chair. “He’s Up There now. He left for Heaven  _ minutes  _ after telling me about it.”

Newt, who had at this point pulled up his own chair at the table, let out a relieved laugh. Anathema couldn’t help but let her own relief wash over her. Aziraphale wasn’t dead. 

Still, she couldn’t help but acknowledge the skepticism that nagged at her as well. Why was Heaven suddenly so interested in promoting Aziraphale? Last time she’d seen the angel’s boss had been during the not-so-end-of-the-world, and he’d been pretty pissed off at Aziraphale then. In fact, hadn’t they tried to execute him for his role in stopping the apocalypse?

Newt hadn’t seemed to reach the same conclusion as his fiancée, and continued to grin ear-to-ear.

“That’s great! So, he isn’t dead!” he laughed as he popped a grape into his mouth.

Crowley glared, his scowl deepening.

“It is great, isn’t it?” he was still smiling, but it was beginning to falter awkwardly.

“Oh, yes, it’s  _ fantastic _ .” The demon responded, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Isn’t it just great that Aziraphale is off in Heaven with a new promotion? Isn’t it  _ great  _ that he’s never coming back to earth? Isn’t it just  _ lovely  _ that he’s now reporting to the WANKERS WHO TRIED TO  _ KILL _ HIM?” Angered fists slammed against the table, causing the bird outside to take off from where it had been perched. Newts expression fell, the smile replaced with a nervous sort of fear.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Crowley nodded, leaning back in his chair again. Anathema moved to pat her fiancé on the shoulder before turning her attention back to the distressed demon. When she finally spoke, her voice was careful, as though one wrong word would send the demon into a rage.

“If Heaven’s been so awful to him, why would he accept a promotion from them? Wouldn’t he be better off just… staying down here?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time he’s chosen Heaven over me.” Crowley grimaced, refusing to meet her gaze.

Anathema frowned, unconvinced. Sure, Aziraphale’s boss had been a bit of a jerk before, but after the apocalypse they had tried to  _ kill _ the angel. It was one thing to avoid quitting a job with a jerk-boss, it was entirely another to accept  _ a promotion  _ at that job after they attempted to murder you.

“I thought that he was done with them.” Crowley continued when Anathema didn’t respond. “I thought we both were. Guess I don’t know him as well as I thought.”

The witch’s eyes narrowed. She’d seen the way they looked at each other. She’d seen the way the angel’s face lit up whenever the demon spoke. She’d seen his aura; a pure light blue, filled to the brim with love. She saw the way that love nearly overflowed from his aura every time Crowley was around. She had also seen the nervous grey protection the angel had put up when his boss was nearby, almost as though he was trying to protect the love that was sewn into his very being from being ripped out. Aziraphale’s love for the demon was as pure and bright as anything she’d seen. His love for Heaven was anything but that. It was a terrified, forced sort of love. The kind of love people had for the sun - they were grateful for its warmth, but were fully aware that if they got too close it would burn them. 

Anathema opened her mouth to argue with the demon, but as she squinted at his aura, she could see a deep, angry, and horribly sad purple overtaking his entire being. It was all too fresh right now. He was angry, and she assumed it wasn’t just with Aziraphale. The demon was angry with himself for letting the angel get away.

Now wasn’t the right time to argue with him. Certainly not if she cared about the state of her kitchen table, which had already taken enough of a beating for the day.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way.” She said instead, allowing the sympathy she felt to bleed onto her features. Silently, she promised to personally investigate the matter further. Something was off about this supposed promotion, and Anathema wasn’t just going to ignore it.

Right now, though, she had a distraught demon to care for.

“Aziraphale was showing me some magic a few weeks back. Maybe you could help me perfect it?” She asked, hoping that a distraction would lift Crowley’s spirits. Celestial magic was a bit different from witchcraft, but they shared enough similarities that she’d been able to learn some useful tricks from Aziraphale and Crowley. Not only was it a wonderful distraction, but she would be needing all the magic she could get when she was searching for answers about the angel.

***

For the majority of his existence Aziraphale had believed that angels, as beings of love and good, were incapable of true cruelty. Sure, they could get a bit tetchy at times, even arrogant or downright rude, but they were beings that fought for the Greater Good. He had always thought that had to mean something.

Aziraphale knew that love was his angelic specialty, but he had always assumed that the other virtues and specialties – temperance, patience, even wrath – existed for the purpose of the Greater Good. Wasn’t it their goal as angels to create a world in Heaven where  _ all  _ beings felt loved for eternity?

The first time Aziraphale doubted this assumption had been the day Gabriel had come to him with a message stating that he was going to drown all the Mesopotamian locals save for Noah and his family. In that message the archangel had warned him against interfering, but that hadn’t stopped Aziraphale and Crowley from rounding up as many children as they could and bringing them onto the ark. Despite his defiance, Aziraphale had believed at the time that the flood had been for the good of the people, even if he didn’t understand why. At least God was sending a colourful promise to the humans that it would never happen again. He quite liked the rainbow, too. It had only taken a minor miracle to convince Gilbert Baker in 1978 that it was the perfect symbol for the gay community.

Aziraphale was introduced to doubt once more when he began receiving several strongly worded notes about frivolous miracles from his superiors in Heaven. It wasn’t a particularly cruel punishment, certainly not in comparison to what he imagined Crowley would face in Hell, but it was unpleasant nonetheless. 

Quite frankly, he wouldn’t have been upset about it if he agreed that the miracles  _ were _ frivolous; but Aziraphale’s miracles, while a tad self-indulgent at times, were always performed with the goal of improving a human’s life. He saw nothing wrong with curing a poor soul who came into his shop with an illness, it was a quick fix after all. He certainly wouldn’t stand by while a child was playing alone, and it was so simple to miraculously convince the other children in the village to step outside and keep him company. He certainly saw no harm in making sure that the local sushi restaurant had enough customers to pay their bills that month. It was the least he could do after they’d kept him so well fed.

No matter his explanations, his superiors in Heaven punished him regardless. More than once Aziraphale had feared that Michael or Gabriel were inching dangerously close to administering a punishment more severe than a slap on the wrist.

The days leading up to the apocalypse hadn’t been at all reassuring. The angels had abandoned the humans in their time of need in order to fight a frivolous war. When he was punched by Sandalphon for trying to stop the antichrist, he was disappointed to say that he wasn’t entirely surprised. 

This disappointment increased tenfold when Heaven allied itself with Hell in order to destroy himself and Crowley. The smug look on Michael’s face when she’d walked into Hell with what she thought would be the tool of Crowley’s destruction, it was enough to make Aziraphale’s blood boil. In that moment he regretted every word he’d ever said in the angels’ defence. To imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t caught that prophecy, to think of Crowley melting into goo, surrounded only by demons who cheered for his demise – it was _unacceptable._

He no longer had  _ any  _ desire to waste any of his love and faith on the creatures that had tried to destroy Crowley. He certainly didn’t miss the distant, uncaring approval he’d get from his superiors every time he managed to do something right in their eyes. Over time Aziraphale had learned to rely more heavily on the ever-present love and warmth of the Almighty Herself in order to maintain his faith; but now, ethereal chains around his neck, Aziraphale’s connection to Her felt distant and stunted. He had never felt so alone in his entire existence, regardless of the presence of his new guest. 

_ “Hello, Traitor. I’m Nathanael.” _

Aziraphale forced a smile onto his face as he looked up at the other angel. “Nice to make your acquaintance Nathanael, I’m not sure I’m familiar with-“

“I’m your replacement. Your better, of course. I’ve been given a commendation for a job well done my first week on earth, and you, Traitor, you’re my reward.”

Aziraphale fiddled with his fingers, uneasy.

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

Nathanael snapped his fingers, and suddenly the first taste of privacy Aziraphale had gotten all week was gone. The previously opaque white walls of the room shifted into walls made entirely of glass. He glanced out the newly transparent walls into the busy atrium of Heaven’s head office, where several curious eyes quickly turned to stare at him.

He felt like an animal in a zoo. 

Considering how little these angels cared for the humans, it was strange that they had no qualms sharing such barbaric similarities with them.

“Right then,” Aziraphale chimed, a polite smile on his lips. “I suppose this is the new view for all the angels to gawk at?” He was relieved, at least, that he was out of feather-grabbing reach this time.

Nathanael shook his head, moving closer to Aziraphale before grasping the chain around his neck and pulling him roughly to his feet. “Oh no, Traitor. Your punishment hasn’t even begun yet.  _ That’s  _ why I’m here.”

Aziraphale’s mouth struggled to catch up with his thoughts, and the only sound he managed to make in response was something that he would have expected to hear from Crowley.

“Gmph,” He said, the feathers on his wings standing on end.

Nathanael snapped his fingers one more time, causing the chains around Aziraphale’s neck to extend so that two thick cuffs also encircled his wrists. His chains now resembled those that had held him back on earth during the French Revolution, but the angel had a feeling that this time he wouldn’t be munching on crepes anytime soon.

“Do you know what I’m an angel of, Traitor?” Nathanael pulled Aziraphale’s chain so that their noses were almost touching. Aziraphale shook his head, raising placating hands between their chests, trying to force some space between them.

Nathanael released Aziraphale’s chains, pushing him roughly to the floor. He was just barely able to twist his body in time to allow his hands to take the brunt of his fall as opposed to his wings. 

“Well, how about instead of telling you, I just show you?” Nathanael lifted his right hand in a fist, and as he unfurled his fingers, a scorching blue flame appeared in his palm. Aziraphale didn’t even get a chance to react to the fire before the other angel bent down over him and clutched the end of his chain. Holy blue flames shot up them, encircling the metal and licking at his skin.

The metal around his neck and wrists grew hotter, and Aziraphale felt the flames breaching his corporeal form, licking at his true form. His hands automatically reached up to grasp at his neck, desperate to pull the burning chains away from his skin. The flames wrapped around his hands as they grabbed at the scorching metal, and he collapsed onto his side, head bouncing against the floor on impact. It was with horror that the angel realized he was screaming, begging for it to stop. Aziraphale’s vision went white, pain overtaking his other senses.

Why had he ever thought that angels were incapable of cruelty? 

It was in that moment, unable to see or hear anything aside from the sound of his own screams, that Aziraphale remembered another kind of love: the love of a black-winged demon telling him he must have done the right thing in the Garden 6000 years ago. The same love that he felt for a well-dressed man in a church who saved not only him, but his beloved books. He remembered the love that overwhelmed him when a fiery haired man in dark sunglasses stopped time simply because the angel had asked, thereby saving the world they both loved. Crowley had been the first and only creature aside from the Almighty that had made Aziraphale feel like he deserved to  _ be  _ loved, not just  _ give  _ love.

This was a love that Aziraphale had feared, hidden, and rejected. It was a love he’d never had the chance to admit to feeling out loud, no matter how badly he’d wanted to. This was the love of a demon he had left behind, but whom he had sworn to protect with his life. This was far from the affectionate show of love he craved, but it was all he could do to give the demon back a fraction of the love he had allowed him to feel.

Aziraphale was doing this for him. He was doing this for Crowley. He would do anything for Crowley. He would do _anything _for the one he loved.

Slowly, Aziraphale’s vision returned as the pain subsided. Hot tears were running down the angel’s cheeks, but he forced himself to remain calm. Gabriel was only obliged to hold up his end of the deal to keep Crowley safe if Aziraphale cooperated.

In the moment of reprieve, his blue eyes searched the crowd of angels that had gathered outside the windowed room. Expressions varied from excitement to terror, but none moved away or said a word.

It wasn’t long before Nathanael reignited the flames, and Aziraphale’s screams began again. It was all he could do to stop himself from begging for reprieve. They had bound his ethereal powers, they had limited his connection to Her, but one thing they couldn’t take away was his love for Crowley.

_ I’m doing this for him. _

Aziraphale thought to himself.

_ I’m doing this for Crowley. I’m doing this for Crowley. _

He repeated this mantra, silently willing it to be enough. Enough to keep him fighting, enough to keep Crowley safe, enough to finally let the demon be happy.

_ Keep him safe. Do it for Crowley. _

_ For Crowley. _

_ For Crowley- _

_ Crowley- _

_ Crowley.  _


	5. Put Me First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening for this chapter: Feelin' by Tessa Violet

After leaving the witch’s home, Crowley made the firm decision _ not _ to go back to sleep. Tempting as it was to simply fall into a black abyss for another century, he couldn’t deny that Anathema’s little rant had an impact on him. He didn’t care what the humans thought about him, but he had to admit that he wasn’t fond of the idea of Anathema having to tell the kids that he wasn’t coming back. God, it was bloody infuriating when humans were right. When had he become so _ soft _? 

Uncomfortable as it was, the demon had to find _ some _ way to occupy himself so that he didn’t have to think about the painful fact that Aziraphale had abandoned him. That was why Crowley spent most of his first month without his angel moping around various bars throughout London. 

The dark haze brought on by the alcohol was at least half as satisfying as sleep. He couldn’t be bothered to miracle the alcohol from his system, instead choosing to face the very human inconvenience of a hangover. He had been partly responsible for inventing hangovers after all, and what kind of a demon would he be if he didn’t at least test out his own invention? Besides, having a pounding headache after a night of drinking allowed his focus to drift blissfully away from the intense, burning pain of abandonment.

Much to his dismay, Crowley couldn’t stay inebriated _ all _the time. At least twice a week he would get a call from the witch insisting they spend some time together. Every once in a while, she agreed to go out for a few drinks with him, but it was much more common that he was forced to help the witch with her magic. Once, she even forced him to sit with her and Newt as they worked on wedding planning. He had, of course, denied her request at first; but her pout was nearly audible through the phone, and Crowley had a bloody annoying habit of folding the second someone pouted. 

He blamed Aziraphale for that one. Bastard. 

Crowley didn’t really have the mental energy to be going out with Anathema as often as he was, but he didn’t exactly have the energy to tell her no, either. Truthfully, it was difficult to decline her numerous invitations when Aziraphale’s final goodbye to him had been an insistence that he keep their mortal friends’ company. Caring to his last, that angel. Even knowing the short lifespans of the humans, he had still wanted them to be happy.

_ He wanted _ them _ to be happy. Not me. _

Crowley’s thoughts interrupted viciously one day as he sat with Anathema on a bench in Tadfield. The two of them were watching the kids run around playing a game that he couldn’t be bothered to hear.

Crowley didn’t think he was particularly good company at the moment, but he supposed it was better than the alternative that Anathema had so fiercely described to him at the door of jasmine cottage.

Aziraphale _ had _said he’d be watching from Up There, and he wasn’t about to disappoint the angel by abandoning their friends so soon after he’d left. Admittedly, Crowley was doubtful that Aziraphale really was looking down on him. He’d made it pretty damn clear that the demon was low on his list of priorities, and he was probably being kept busy in Heaven. He imagined it wouldn’t take long for the angel to start making new friends up in Heaven and forget about Crowley entirely.

Still, he couldn’t help but rely on the idea that Aziraphale at least glanced down on him every once in a while. In a strange way, this thought was one of the only things that stopped him from downing a fontful of holy water on the days when his internal monologue was its most vicious and painful.

It was a feeble, pathetic hope to wish that an angel was looking down on him. It was, at the very least, incredibly un-demonic of him. Nonetheless, Crowley clung to it like a lifeline.

***

Though it felt like it had lasted an eternity, Nathanael’s visit to Heaven only took one short hour of Aziraphale’s life. The pain of the flames faded, leaving only the dull throbbing of the burns on his neck and wrists in its wake. His face was wet with tears, his lips bloody from the intensity in which he’d bitten down on them, trying desperately to muffle his cries of agony. 

_ I’m doing this for Crowley _ . _ For Crowley. _

When Nathanael approached him at the end of the hour, Aziraphale failed to suppress a flinch, causing a smile to creep onto the other angel’s features. Upon noticing the lack of flame in his palm, Aziraphale quickly attempted to right himself, clearing his throat which was hoarse from screaming as he tried to push himself into a seated position. His entire frame shook, making it difficult to hold himself upright. Unable to sit up straight, and unable to lean on his palms due to the burns that stretched from his wrists and down his hands, he settled instead for leaning heavily on one of his elbows. It was rather unbecoming, but it was better than lazing about on the floor.

“Had enough, Traitor?” Nathanael’s hands were folded neatly behind his back as he leaned over the principality. Well, he supposed Heaven wasn’t likely to see him as such anymore, but he had earned that title. He wouldn’t sit back while they stripped him of his title, his _ name _\- 

_ Stay calm. For Crowley. _

Aziraphale forced a tight smile onto his lips.

“I rather think I have. I suspect you haven’t, though?”

The vengeful angel’s features twisted into something that Aziraphale could only guess was glee. It certainly wasn’t an expression he expected to see on the face of an angel who had just tortured another; but then, he hadn’t expected to see an angel torture another in the first place.

“Far from it, Traitor. But I do have to get back to my earthly duties. I should be back at my bookshop before sunrise.”

_ His _bookshop? That bookshop was as much Nathanael’s as North America was Christopher Columbus’. That is to say, it wasn’t. 

_ You’re doing this for Crowley. _The ever-present mantra in his mind supplied, causing him to bite back an angered response.

“I do hope you enjoy yourself down there– Nathanael, was it?” He said instead, teeth clenched in a poor attempt to hide his distaste.

“Oh, I will. And not to worry, Traitor, we have plenty of others just _ waiting _for the chance to meet with you. You had it easy in your first week here. Don’t think it’ll be like for long. In fact, I’ve heard that one of the members of your very own ex-platoon has quite a knack with fire, too. I heard they were quite eager to get their vengeance against you for abandoning your post.”

Good gracious, it wasn’t over?

_ You can do it for Crowley. God, give me the strength to do this for Crowley. _

“I look forward to meeting with them.” His smile was tight as he tucked his wings tightly behind his back.

With a _ pop, _Nathanael was gone.

In his moment of solitude Aziraphale’s blue eyes searched the crowd of angels that was still gathered around the walls of his prison.

It suddenly struck him that this was nothing at all like the human’s tendency to gawk at animals in cages. While he had come across far too many cramped or mistreated animals in zoos, the intention of those institutions was never to harm them. No, this was not a zoo. He would venture to say it was far more like Hell itself. Just as they had at Crowley’s trial, curious faces were pressed against glass walls, eagerly awaiting sick revenge.

_ Two sides of the same foul coin. _

Just then a very petite cherub with long blond hair entered the confines of his prison cell. On their shirt was a large tartan military ribbon that Aziraphale recognized as a mark of a high-ranking officer in his platoon.

In fact, Aziraphale recognized this cherub from a very long time ago. They had met shortly after the first Great War between Heaven and Hell had ended, just before he had been assigned to guard the Garden of Eden. It was his duty as a newly appointed principality to meet the high-ranking officers under his command.

“Chamuel, my dear fellow, it’s been quite a while.”

“Yes, Traitor, it has been.”

Aziraphale frowned indignantly.

“I know you view me rather unfavourably at the moment, old chap, but I don’t see why we must continue with all this ‘traitor’ nonsense. We know each other, you can just call me Aziraph- _ uhmf!” _

An open hand connected quite shockingly with Aziraphale’s cheek, and he stumbled to the ground from the already weakened position he’d previously held himself in.

He certainly hoped that Crowley _ was _happy back on earth. If Aziraphale had to deal with such disrespect for nothing it would be rather undignifying. 

“You have lost the _ right _to be known by your Heavenly title. You’re the Traitor, nothing else.” Chamuel sneered.

“Right, ah, yes, of course. I must have missed the notice from the Almighty stating that protecting Her creation was traitorous. How foolish of me.”

This snide comment was met with a kick to the stomach that knocked the air right out of him. Strictly speaking, he didn’t _ need _the air that he coughed for in that moment, but that didn’t stop his corporation from needing it. He knew that, should he lose his corporation now, nothing of his situation would change aside from the loss of a body that he had grown quite fond of. No, that simply wouldn’t do. He would hang onto his wonderfully plump and comfortable body as long as he could Up Here.

“Now, _ that _was quite impolite.” Aziraphale wheezed the moment he regained the ability to speak, forcing himself back into a somewhat seated position. “Truly, I had thought better of you, Chamuel.”

The cherub produced a small orange flame in their palm and leaned down to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, the heat of the flame pressed close to his cheek.

“Don’t push it, Traitor.”

Aziraphale considered a response, hating the thought of someone so uncivilised having the last word, but the mantra he’d taken to repeating caused him to hesitate. 

_ Crowley is only safe if you cooperate. _

When he finally found his voice again, he spoke with resignation, eyes finding the floor.

“My apologies.”

***

The next three and a half weeks of Aziraphale’s life existed as only a myriad of desperation and pain. Unlike Nathanael, Chamuel apparently had no Heavenly duties to attend to that were more important than administering pain to Aziraphale for a full week. His interests, much like Nathanael’s, lay mostly in fire. He was an angel of heat and warmth, and fire was the only way to cause pain with such a talent. At least for someone who so sorely lacked creativity, as this cherub did.

Crowley, on the other hand, did not lack creativity in the slightest. As such, he had found a rather genius way to use heat for Hellish purposes in 1982 when he paid a fortune to an architect for the rights to help design very large office building in New York City. The building had walls of glass that reflected the sun _ just right _ during working hours so that all the businessmen in suits would be forced to sit in uncomfortable heat between 11 in the morning and 3 in the afternoon. Crowley had ensured that the building had a very poorly functioning air-conditioning unit, and that none of the windows in the building could open.

Aziraphale had, of course, chided Crowley for thinking up something so fiendishly clever. He was an angel, and therefore had no intention of encouraging such a scheme; but he had to admit that if anyone had deserved such discomfort it had to be those very rich businessmen in the 80's who so frequently mistreated others both in and outside of the workplace.

But, it did very little to dwell on the possibilities of his punishment when the cherub, not remotely capable of such clever thought, held a burning flame to his skin.

On the second week since being moved, Gabriel came to visit with the smug smile of a narcissistic man who knew that he had power over someone.

As he summoned small bolts of lightning with his fingertip that made Aziraphale cry out in pain, he made it clear that he had far more important duties to fulfill in Heaven.

As Aziraphale groaned against the waves of electricity, Gabriel made a point of telling him how lucky he was to be visited by an archangel despite the crimes he committed against Heaven.

Even when he passed the job on to another angel, it was with a reminder that he wasn’t usually this _ gracious _, giving his time to someone as lowly as a Traitor.

Aziraphale knew he could be quite self-assured at times, but he liked to think that he at least had some tact.

The third week was a sort of free-for-all for the creatures of Heaven to participate in his punishment.

Those who had plucked feathers from him before came back to rip handfuls of scapular feathers from his wings without so much as a greeting.

Others took to organizing an honest-to-goodness stoning, where angels took turns producing large rocks to hurl at him. In the interest of making it last longer, a few angels took turns healing him so that he could receive the same injuries again and again.

_ Animals. _

Through stark pain and rather unbecoming fear, only the weekly updates on Crowley managed to maintain Aziraphale’s sanity through his first month within Heaven’s walls.

Though his connection with the Almighty was weak, he truly felt blessed when he saw Crowley enjoying a glass of Dalmore scotch, or helping Anathema with her witchcraft. His favourite update on his beloved demon had been watching him with Adam and the Them in Tadfield.

Just knowing that the demon was getting out and enjoying his life in Aziraphale’s absence made it _ well _worth the pain. It was worth every bruise on his body and burn on his skin just to see Crowley content.

***

Crowley hadn’t been to the bookshop since the day he first met Aziraphale’s replacement.

Realistically, he _ knew _Aziraphale was gone. He knew that the angel had made his choice and left with no intention of returning for so much as a visit.

This knowledge didn’t make it any easier for Crowley to face the fact that the bookshop Aziraphale loved so dearly was now in someone else’s hands. He couldn’t stand the idea of the replacement mulling around in the backroom where they sat together and drank, couldn’t stand the image of another creature happy amongst _ Aziraphale’s _most prized possessions.

Crowley knew that if he entered A.Z Fell and Co. that he wouldn’t find Aziraphale bustling about, moving books around the shop to confuse as many customers as possible; but that didn’t stop his imagination from running wild.

By not visiting the bookshop, Crowley could privately imagine his angel caught up in a long book series in the backroom of his shop. Perhaps he was re-reading all of Victor Hugo’s work, so lost in the horrendously dull and bloody time-consuming text that he had forgotten to call Crowley in the weeks he sat reading. Crowley tried desperately to convince himself that when Aziraphale finally closed the last page of _ Les Misérables, _he would look at that ridiculous pocket-watch of his and immediately call Crowley with a heartfelt apology and a promise to never lose track of time like that again.

Crowley would secretly smile on the other side of the phone, knowing that it was a promise the angel couldn’t keep. He _had_ promised just that many times before. Not that Crowley had ever minded. Aziraphale’s ability to get lost in what he adored was part of what made Crowley love him.

Instead of saying any of this, Crowley would simply travel through the telephone line to his angel with a smirk and an offer of lunch on him.

This was a comforting lie that Crowley told himself. He grounded himself in the familiarity of Aziraphale’s introversion rather than facing the honest truth.

It was easy to believe at first, but as time went on, as the _ weeks _passed by, this lie became harder to believe. When, finally, a month passed without a scandalized, apologetic call from Aziraphale, Crowley finally understood that he needed to accept the truth.

That was why, on the third Sunday of August, exactly one month after Aziraphale had said goodbye, Crowley decided to visit the bookshop once more.

When the Bentley screeched to a stop outside the bookshop at two in the afternoon, the first thing Crowley noticed was that the sign on the door was flipped to ‘closed’.

When Aziraphale was on earth, that meant very little aside from the fact that he was tired of customers getting too close to his books. Peeking inside, however, Crowley noted that the lights were off in the quiet shop. It appeared entirely empty.

With a minor miracle, Crowley willed the doors of the bookshop to open. He sauntered into the shop, scrunching his nose at the unfamiliar scent of the other angelic being. Crowley couldn’t sense the replacement inside the bookshop at the moment, but his scent still lingered, replacing Aziraphale’s familiar scent of lavender.

It wasn’t until Crowley snapped his fingers, allowing light to flood the empty shop, that he noticed the books. Or rather, the stunning _ lack _of books.

Several of the shelves that were stacked full of books now looked bare. That wasn’t to say there weren’t any books, but Aziraphale had always left his shelves overflowing. Now, like a child who was losing their teeth, rows of books had gaps where stories had been pulled from the shelves.

It was Crowley’s first instinct to hope that Aziraphale himself had come down to begin moving his collection to his new job Upstairs, but it only took a glance at the first edition Oscar Wilde collection to know that this wasn’t the case.

Aziraphale tried to confuse customers by placing books around the shop in no discernable order, but the first edition books had _ never _ been for sale, and were therefore placed on display in order of publication and never touched aside from when they were moved about to be cleaned or read with gloved hands by Aziraphale. Now, _ three _of Wilde’s first edition works were missing from the display, none of which had been removed in order. If Aziraphale had come to collect them, he would have taken them all together.

There was only one explanation, and it was so horrible that Crowley felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

Nathanael, Aziraphale’s replacement, was _ selling _Aziraphale’s books.


	6. Not Truly Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here - thanks for your patience!  
Recommended Song: HEAVEN by Troye Sivan

Angels didn’t technically need sleep. They didn’t  _ technically _ need any sort of rest to function properly. While Aziraphale was on earth, he had never truly taken what would be considered an official break from his earthly duties. That is, if ‘fitting in’ by dining with Crowley or by reading his books late into the night counted as part of his earthly duties. He liked to think they did.

Aziraphale had tried sleeping once or twice in his time on earth, always eager to experiment with human’s hedonistic inventions, but he found the vivid images that floated through his mind while he slept quite unnerving. Instead, Aziraphale much preferred to spend his nights lost in the beautiful, vivid imagery provided by books. The pictures he imagined through books were predictable, controllable. They were very unlike the confusing, sometimes even frightening images he saw in his dreams.

Since re-entering Heaven, Aziraphale had been forced into the unfortunate blankness of sleep far more often than he liked to admit. It was not his choice to be participating in sleep as often as he was. He didn't like looking as though he was lazing about in the middle of the day, especially not in front of so many staring faces. Sleep was, unfortunately, simply the only way for his body to recover without the power to heal himself in between bouts of rather unbearable pain.

Aziraphale had to admit that his bouts of blankness differed quite significantly from his previous experiences sleeping. It was really far more of a blackness that was forced upon his body when it was no longer able to process the pain. It was almost like a brief break from his senses, though these breaks were far and few between. Many angels preferred to heal him just enough to bring him back into consciousness before continuing their abuse. 

As much as he disliked sleeping in front of the large crowds, Aziraphale still found it quite rude when the angels woke him from his rest only to bring him to the brink again as crowds of angels cheered them on.

Now, however, for the first time it weeks, Heaven was quiet.

Many biblical stories throughout history liked to state that God rested on the seventh day of Creation. This was why humans believed Sunday, the seventh day of the week, was the Heavenly day of rest.

This assumption was untrue. 

God actually spent four days creating Heaven, three days creating Her angels, and eleven days creating the earth. On the nineteenth day, Lucifer rebelled, and on the twentieth day the remaining angels in Heaven were assigned to their new posts.

It was actually on the twenty-fourth day that the angels gathered in Heaven’s largest boardroom to vote on when they should take their day of rest. Aziraphale, who was on his fourth day in his new post watching over the Garden of Eden, was unable to take part in this vote.

The angels, excluding Aziraphale, decided that on the third Monday of each month they would take a break from their respective duties to visit the humans already in Heaven. This day was created for angels to socialize with one another, and with the very best of humanity so far. Though, from what he’d heard, many of the angels tended to ignore the humans in favour of re-watching the Sound of Music together. 

Demons, on the other hand, had taken Saturday as their own day of rest. This was the true reason for the horrible feeling associated with Mondays, and the lovely feeling associated with Saturdays.

Aziraphale, who had spent the third Monday each month continuing his earthly duties, was enjoying the angelic day of rest for the first time in his existence. He was left chained up in the windowed room in head office, and was finally completely alone.

Though he was doing his best to spend his time healing his corporation, there was very little that Aziraphale could do without access to miracles. Instead, the angel did his best to use his garments to bind the more intense injuries. He had very little fabric to spare, but decided that it was worth the loss of the bottom of his robe in order to get some of these wounds covered.

His garment certainly couldn’t get any less stylish than it already was, and if he wasn’t able to keep his appearance in tip-top shape, then what harm would a ripped garment do? He did miss the feeling of a nice haircut, or a manicure. He especially missed the plumpness he had always favoured for his body. Aziraphale loved a lot of things about having a soft, plump corporation. He liked the way it looked, he loved the way it felt, and it certainly made for a very easy way to keep warm in the winter. Unfortunately, since arriving in Heaven Aziraphale hadn’t been allowed to eat, and without the ability to miracle his body back the way he liked it, he had lost an unfortunate amount of weight.

He would, of course, sacrifice all the comfort in the known world for his demon Crowley. 

Crowley, who was safe, just as promised. Aziraphale had seen him a day ago getting out of his beloved Bentley and knocking on the witch’s door.

The viewing had been brief, but it was enough to allow Aziraphale to go to his happy place. He had continued to imagine this lovely image through to his first day alone in Heaven. He pictured himself sitting next to Crowley in that Bentley as they raced down countryside roads at quite a ridiculous speed. In his imagination, the angel would chide Crowley for driving so fast, but would take his hand from the steering wheel and lace their fingers together. He would then lean forward, pressing his lips gently to fingertips painted with black polish, relishing in the way that Crowley’s smile would reach his beautiful, unmasked golden eyes. 

Aziraphale had never allowed himself to entertain such thoughts back on earth. For centuries it was due to the fear of what Heaven or Hell would do to him if they should find out he had feelings for a demon. This fear still plagued him after the apocalypse. Though he worried less than before about what his superiors might  _ think _ of his feelings, he certainly still had reason to believe that they might try to blame Crowley for the loss of their not-so-esteemed principality. He was a guardian by design, and he would rather be damned (quite literally, in fact) than allow Heaven to use Crowley as some sort of scapegoat.

Even more paralyzing than the fear of what Heaven would do, however, was the fear of ruining what he had with Crowley. It seemed rather unlikely that Heaven would ever find out if they’d chosen to pursue a more romantic relationship, but his friendship with the demon was all that he had. More than that, it was all that he ever truly wanted. Aziraphale would rather, well, spend an eternity being tormented in Heaven than risk giving that up.

Aziraphale could sense love, after all. He had sensed Crowley’s love for a number of things: his Bentley, Queen, his plants. Aziraphale could even sense his soft side for children, as much as the demon liked to deny it. Despite all of the love that Crowley was so clearly capable of feeling, Aziraphale had never sensed it directed towards himself. He wouldn’t dare risk his growing closeness with the demon to admit feelings he knew would never be returned.

Entertaining these fantasies in his imagination now that he was in Heaven, however, posed no threat to the demon’s safety. Or to their friendship, for that matter. He could picture Crowley pulling over to the side of the road, gathering Aziraphale into his arms and placing a chaste kiss on his lips for as long as he liked without the risk of being tempted to act upon his desires.

Crowley would move on without him on earth, and Aziraphale would spend eternity happily bleeding in his name, clinging desperately to the image of a demon reaching out to hold him.

“Angel.” A voice pierced through the beautiful silence, and Aziraphale opened his eyes, not having realized he’d closed them. The garment he’d begun to wrap around his wrist wounds was slipping through his fingers as they grew slack in his distraction.

Aziraphale looked up, a little miffed that someone had so rudely interrupted his lovely thoughts, to see another angel with mahogany skin and hazel eyes fiddling with a muffin. Though Aziraphale hadn’t seen this particular angel before, he could only assume that she had come to continue his punishment.

“Good day.” Aziraphale said, forcing his voice to remain strong. No matter how many angels they threw at him, he refused to back down.

The angel offered him a soft smile before moving to hand Aziraphale the muffin in her hands. Aziraphale flinched instinctively, all too used to sudden movements being a sign that he was about to be hit. When he realized that hadn’t been her intention, Aziraphale attempted to right himself.

“Ah, sorry, dear. I just thought you were-“

“What’s your name, angel?” She asked, cutting him off.

Aziraphale hesitated. He knew they called him “The Traitor” Up Here. While he wasn’t particularly fond of the new name, he had been punished quite severely for daring to suggest that an old friend (of all angels!) call him by his given name.

Frustrated, the angel hung his head and grumbled “Traitor.”

He wasn’t happy about it, and he certainly wouldn’t hide that fact, but she hadn’t hurt him yet. He would do what he could to keep it that way, or at least to keep whatever punishment she did intend to enforce at a minimum.

The other angel simply frowned.

“No, your real name. The one given to you by Her.”

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to frown. Was this some sort of trick? A way of getting him to say that God Herself had deemed him as some sort of traitor?

Well, he simply wouldn’t comply. He refused to believe that She intended for him to be called Traitor unless She came down and told him so Herself.

Then again, this angel had referred to  _ him _ as an angel herself. Twice, in fact. None of the others Up Here had called him an angel since his arrival.

“Aziraphale,” he spoke slowly, preparing himself for the worst. “My name is Aziraphale.”

The other angel nodded gently, moving to sit down in front of him.

“Aziraphale. The others refused to speak your true name to me, but I did hear that you enjoy human food. Is that right?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly.

“Right, well, I don’t know much about it myself. See, I haven’t been on earth before. But I had seen these in photos from earth, and they were always described as quite sweet. I did my best.”

Once again, the angel held out the muffin for Aziraphale. Slowly, he reached out a hand to take it, but pulled away doubtfully.

“Please,” she urged. “it’s the least I can do for you after standing by for a month watching this happen.”

Though he was still unconvinced, Aziraphale gave a curt nod and took the muffin from her.

He knew he didn’t strictly  _ need  _ food, but he had gotten quite used to eating it, and his body was certainly missing the feeling of a full stomach. Not to mention that it would help tremendously with healing his corporation, since he was forced to do so the human way. The feeling of the pastry in his hands caused his stomach to give a low growl, and his mouth watered slightly.

Slowly, the angel took a bite out of the pastry, immediately relieved that it tasted normal. It was certainly nothing compared to the muffins from Maison Bertaux, but in that moment it felt like one of the best things he’d ever tasted.

He tried to savour the taste, just as he would during a night out with Crowley, but despite his best efforts the muffin barely lasted thirty seconds.

Upon finishing, the angel wiped the crumbs from his garment and looked up apologetically at the other angel.

“Oh, how rude of me. Just scarfing that down without offering you something. Not that I have much I can give you right now. Still, it was terribly impolite of me to eat like that in front of you.”

“It’s not a problem, Aziraphale. I brought it for you to enjoy, I don’t expect anything in return.”

“Oh, you are truly one of the few kind angels left, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled sadly. “Ah, by the way, I hope it isn’t rude of me to ask but, well, why exactly did you come here?”

“I’m an angel of truth and loyalty, Aziraphale. I wasn’t made to stand by and watch while others made in Her image are harmed. I  _ certainly  _ wasn’t made to hide such atrocities from all those outside of head office. If I’m honest – can I be honest with you, Aziraphale?”

He nodded, offering her a warm smile.

“Of course, dear girl. It’s what you were made to do, after all. Go on.”

“You must understand, I’m not one to question God’s plan. But, if I’m being truthful with you, I never really  _ wanted  _ to fight in any war. The first Great War was enough fighting for a lifetime. I was relieved when it was called off. When you, well, you know, stopped it. I really admire your courage, and I hoped it would just be thrown under the rug. But-“

She stopped speaking suddenly as a device in her pocket began to chime.

“Oh, I really have to get going. I’m so sorry I can’t stay longer, Aziraphale, but they’re expecting me back at any moment. I do wish there was more I could do.” She said, reaching into her pocket to cease the chiming.

“You’ve done more good than you can possibly imagine, dear girl.”

“Listen, before I go, you need to know I’m not the only one who’s against what they’re doing to you. There are others who want this violence to end. We can’t free you, not yet at least-“

“Oh dear, no, no. I wouldn’t want that. My Crowley is only safe if I stay-“

“-But we can try to make it easier for you, at least. Keep an eye out for our symbol,” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a golden coin with a picture of a book stamped into it. “When you see this symbol, it means they’re someone you can trust. Someone on our side.”

_ “We’re on our side now.”  _ Crowley’s voice reverberated through Aziraphale’s mind.

“Our side.” He echoed, nodding.

The chiming from her pocket started again, and the angel moved to make her leave.

“Wait!” called Aziraphale, reaching out to grasp her wrist before she could go. “I at least need to know your name, kind one.”

“Caliel.” She replied, smiling softly down at the angel. “And we’ll get you through this, Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this long break!  
I am currently in my final year of my undergrad and I just finished writing my honours thesis, which basically meant that the only "free" time I had was spent either at my job, or sleeping.   
Hopefully now that my thesis and exams for the term are done (phew!) I'll be able to do a bit more writing and not keep you waiting quite as long for the next chapter!  
As always, I appreciate all comments and kudos that you give. They're truly what keep me going!


	7. All the Stars Fall Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas - have a new chapter!  
Recommended song: Promises by EXES  
(I found this song just recently and I can't deal with how perfectly it describes them in this fic!)

For the second time that Someone-forsaken month, Crowley found himself knocking on a witch’s door for help. It was embarrassing enough that he’d needed to do this once, but twice? Bloody ridiculous, this was.

As shameful as it was, Crowley had  _ much  _ bigger things to worry about than his pride. Someone was selling Aziraphale’s books, and no matter how much control Heaven had over him, he knew his angel would never willingly allow someone to do this.

In his anger, Crowley had done his best to miracle as many copies of Aziraphale’s books back where they belonged, but it was difficult without knowing the name and location of each title that had been stolen (yes,  _ stolen. _ No matter how much money the customers spent on them). He’d managed to get back most of the Oscar Wilde collection, at least. Once they were restored, Crowley gathered as many of the angel's favourite books as he could fit into his arms and dumped them into the backseat of the Bentley. They would be safe in Crowley’s car as he sped off toward Tadfield, far away from the bookshop.

It was much to Crowley’s dismay when he arrived an hour later only to have the witch’s fiancé answer the door.

“Er, G’afternoon Anth-“

“They’re selling his books.” Crowley cut in, completely uninterested in small talk at such a time.

Newt responded with a look of confusion.

“The replacement. That other angel. He’s selling Aziraphale’s books.” The demon clarified, desperation growing stronger with each passing second.

Newt did not appear to be catching on.

“Well, it is a book  _ store  _ isn’t it?” He asked, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously.

Crowley let out a loud groan, fingers grasping, frustrated, at his hair.

“Where’s book-girl?” The demon asked “She’s the clever one.”

He pretended not to notice how Newt’s features fell, insulted.

“She’s actually out right now. She said she’ll be back once she’s done…uhm,” he paused, clearly trying to think of an excuse. “Shopping.” He decided with a satisfied nod.

Crowley, on the other hand, was not remotely satisfied. He leaned forward and allowed his serpentine eyes to peek out ever so slightly above his glasses, pursing his lips in the most demonic glare he could muster. Newt visibly shrunk under his gaze.

“I’m, erm, not s’posed to say. M-maybe when she gets back she’ll t-tell-“

“Fine. I’ll wait here.”

Crowley pushed past the stuttering human and into the little cottage. He made himself at home in the kitchen, plopping into a chair that faced the front door and swinging his feet onto the table. He leaned forward, grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit beside his feet on the table. 

Crowley didn’t eat often, it wasn’t like he needed it, but it was worth it just to see the look on Newt’s face as he stumbled nervously into the kitchen. With a menacing grin he materialized his fangs and took a large bite out of the fruit.

Crowley wasn’t the type of demon who enjoyed watching others in pain, but he was still a demon. He definitely couldn’t pass up an opportunity to make someone who annoyed him squirm a little.

“Um, help yourself. I guess.”

Newt offered him something between a polite smile and an awkward grimace as he leaned against the counter.

Crowley stayed silent, keeping perfect eye contact with the human as he continued to devour the apple.

It was, of course, Newt who finally broke his gaze.

“How about I call her?” He stammered.

“Get on with it then.” The demon said with a wave of his hand.

Newt nodded and stumbled out of the room, leaving Crowley alone to contemplate his next steps.

The replacement was selling Aziraphale’s books, he knew that much. He also knew Aziraphale would never knowingly allow that to happen. So, either Aziraphale knew, and was powerless to stop it, or he was none the wiser.

Aziraphale  _ was  _ working a new promotion. It was possible he’d been too busy with other things to notice that his precious books were being sold.

If Aziraphale’s books  _ were  _ being sold without his knowledge, wasn’t it Crowley’s duty as his friend to make sure he be informed? Sure, Aziraphale had closed the door on their friendship, but that didn’t mean Crowley couldn’t open it again. Right?

Maybe it was better if Aziraphale didn’t know. Technically, if he never found out about it he could never be hurt by it. It wasn’t like there was much he could do about it from Up There. If he hadn’t been allowed to bring the books Up with him in the first place, it was unlikely he would be able to do anything about them being sold.

Maybe telling the angel would just make things harder for him. Maybe Crowley was being selfish by wanting to tell him the truth.

Then again, Crowley was a demon. Demons were selfish.

Besides, he had a sinking feeling that there was a lot more to it than a simple misunderstanding. Whatever this promotion was a cover for, whatever Gabriel  _ really  _ had planned for his angel – Satan, Crowley felt sick just thinking about it. He couldn’t imagine what the fuckers who had tried to burn his angel would do if Aziraphale stepped out of line Up There. He could only hope it hadn’t come to that yet.

Moments later, Newt’s head poked back into the kitchen.

“Anathema is on her way.”

Crowley nodded in acknowledgement, too lost in his panicked thought to continue his intimidation. His mind was occupied with the fear of what could happen – or might have already happened – to Aziraphale because of his own inability to process abandonment.

“I know you don’t think I’m very intelligent- “

Crowley jumped, not having realized Newt had moved to sit beside him. He quickly tried to cover it up by shifting his position in his chair so his feet were back on the ground.

“And I might not be the best with emotions, either- “

“Anything you  _ are  _ good with, not-so-computer boy?” Crowley leered.

Newt frowned, but continued.

“But I  _ can  _ tell you’re scared.”

“Scared? I’m not bloody – how fucking dare – I’ll show you what real fucking fear looks-“

Crowley’s sputtering was cut off abruptly when Newt wrapped his arms around the demon’s shoulders in a tight hug.

He couldn’t believe his fucking senses. The idiot bloody computer boy was hugging him with more confidence than Crowley had thought was possible. Especially from someone like him. Somehow, the power with which Newt held the grumbling, squirming demon caused his panicked heartbeat to slow slightly. Entirely against his own free will, Crowley felt himself sink into the comforting touch.

God, he hadn’t been touched since the last time he and Aziraphale had been drunk together over a month ago. Even then, he’d had to stop himself from sinking too deeply into the angel’s touch as they stumbled arm-in-arm across the bookshop. Couldn’t risk going too fast for his angel.

Oh fuck, no. Shite.  _ Shite.  _ Satan. Jesus. God _ . Fucking Someone.  _ He was not fucking  _ crying _ in this human’s buggering arms. This was not fucking happening.

Newt pulled away, and god this was not happening. He looked straight at the demon’s face as a tear managed to slip beneath his sunglasses despite his  _ direct orders  _ for it to  _ bloody fucking stop. _

Crowley bared his teeth.

“If you speak a word of this to  _ anyone _ , computer boy, I will make the bloody fucking apocalypse look like a walk in the fucking park compared to the  _ hell  _ that I will make of your buggering life, you hear me, human? Forget being shot and waterboarded, and  _ yes  _ I can read exactly what your bloody fucking fears are, I will make every moment of the rest of your useless existence more painful than you can  _ possibly  _ imagine. Is that understood?”

“Not a word to anyone. Ever. Got it.”

There was a pause as Crowley wiped the pathetic tears from his cheeks and managed to re-compose himself.

“Oh, and you're welcome.” Newt added smugly.

The only thing that stopped Crowley from diving across the table and strangling Newt was the sound of the door opening.

“Newt? Anthony? I’m home.”

Crowley leaned in close to Newt.

“Not. A. Word.” He growled under his breath, then got to his feet to meet the witch at the door.

***

“ _ Finally,  _ you see something is wrong.” Anathema sighed. She and Crowley had decided to go for a walk to discuss what he’d discovered, leaving a shaking Newt alone at the kitchen table of Jasmine cottage. By the time Crowley had finished explaining, the two had reached the entrance to the woods.

“S’not my fault he’s such a good actor.” Crowley grumbled, swallowing the guilt that told him he was too caught up in his anger to tell whether the angel really had been acting. Truthfully, he had no idea if there really had been anything  _ off  _ about that day. 

“Mhm, I’m sure he is.” The witch said placatingly. He was being comforted by humans much too often for his liking. “Well, I didn’t get to see his, uh, stellar performance, but I was personally pretty suspicious that he would just leave like that. So I’ve been doing some digging.”

The demon ignored the pang in his chest that told him he should have been digging long before the humans had, and encouraged Anathema to elaborate.

“Well, I haven’t found much yet, admittedly. I’m not exactly used to looking for clues without any help. Usually most of the job was interpreting someone else’s clues.” She laughed nervously but pressed on. “I stopped by the bookshop. I’ll admit I didn’t notice the books were missing, but I did speak with the new shopkeeper. His name is Nathanael-“

“Yes, the replacement.” Crowley supplied.

“Sure, the replacement. His story checked out. Same one he told Mr. Young. He was a pretty odd guy. He talks like an alien who took a high-school class on humans and thinks he’s an expert. Wait, you’re British. Not high-school. College. Secondary school?”

“M’not British. I’m a demon.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

She was nervous. Far from her usual, confident self. Never afraid to barge in and ask questions. She seemed like she was out of questions to ask. Like she’d hit a dead end.

“So what  _ did  _ you figure out?” The demon probed, hoping that he was wrong.

“Well, nothing  _ exactly, _ ”

Damn.

“But, I was just talking with Adam and his little friends. They were playing this game about an angel who was hidden away from his friends on Earth.”

Crowley perked up, gesturing for her to continue.

“I asked where they’d gotten the idea, and apparently a couple of them went to the bookshop a day after Aziraphale died, to give their condolences to his nephew. It was Pepper and one of the boys – oh, I can never remember which is which. The one with the glasses I think?”

“It doesn’t matter, what did he  _ say _ ?”

“Oh yes, well they didn’t get a chance to talk with him because he was talking to someone else, a woman they didn't recognize, in the back of the store. The kids thought that he was reading her a story about an angel who was trapped in Heaven for being a traitor, watching someone move on without them. They left their little condolences card on a shelf and ran out of the shop to tell Adam and the other one about the story. They thought it’d be a fun game.”

_ Move on without them _ ? Were they talking about him and Aziraphale? Surely Aziraphale couldn’t think Crowley was moving on without him? What would he even have to move on from? It was Aziraphale who had abandoned their friendship. Besides, they had never been anything more than friends, at least not to Aziraphale.

“Did they tell you anything else?” Crowley asked, desperate to know what that replacement could have meant.

“I was talking to them when Newt called. I wanted to get to you as soon as possible. I figured we could ask them more together.”

***

Crowley and Anathema found the kids playing their little game in the big expansive field behind Adam’s house.

The messy boy was waving a piece of paper in the face of the shorter boy with glasses (Crowley couldn’t be bothered to remember any of their names aside from the ex-antichrist).

“I, THE CAPTIVE ANGEL, uh… FLAMEY, DID BIND YOU IN CHAINS. AND I WOULD DO IT AGAIN!” yelled the messy boy, jabbing a finger into the other boy’s face.

“Flamey?” asked the stubborn girl. “That name is stupid.”

“Shuddup. I’ll bind you in chains too, Pepper!”

She rolled her eyes.

Crowley, with no time to waste, strolled right up to the messy one and plucked the paper from his hands. It was very small, and mostly charred around the edges. Crowley ignored it.

“Whatcha playing?” he asked, pulling as much false friendliness into his voice as possible.

“It’s a game about an angel who's trapped in Heaven by evil angels.” Adam said, approaching the others with a confident smile on his face. “Pepper and Wensley heard about it in a bookshop.”

Crowley groaned, about to fire off another question when the messy one cut in.

“And then we found that piece of paper and it was the perfect addition to the game! The angel escaped and chained up his enemies and – “

Crowley’s knit his brows together, confused. He held up the charred paper he had taken from the kid.

“This paper?” The kids nodded.

Crowley turned it over so the text on it faced him, and he squinted as he tried to read it.

“ _ Above lies an angel did bind in chains _

_A warning to those who is’t disobey._

_ First feathers, then w-“_

The rest was charred away, but what he’d read was enough to make Crowley’s face feel hot. Something about this paper felt  _ wrong _ , and he wasn’t sure why. Surely it couldn’t mean anything, just some scrap of paper in the grass. It didn’t mean any of it was  _ real _ .

Hoping for some sort of confirmation that he was worrying for nothing, Crowley turned to Anathema. She was white as a sheet, causing Crowley to do a double take.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “What?”

She mumbled something inaudible, suddenly very interested in the grass under her shoes. Crowley, forgetting about the kids, closed the space between himself and the witch.

“Say again?”

“Agnes Nutter.”

This time it was Crowley who blanched.

“Isn’t that the witch with all completely  _ true  _ prophecies?”

Anathema nodded wordlessly. The kids were staring, but Crowley didn’t care. He held the paper in Anathema’s face.

“This isn’t complete. Where’s the rest of it?”

“I, um. Well –“

“Look, witch. If he’s Up There right now  _ bound in chains _ -“

“Actually, the angel isn’t the one in chains. It says –“ Glasses kid cut in. Crowley turned to glare at him.

“It’s old English, kid. Did bind in chains means the  _ angel  _ is in chains.” He turned back to Anathema, fire in his gaze. “Doesn’t it,  _ book girl _ ?”

She nodded; her skin three shades lighter than usual.

“Now  _ where is the rest of it _ ?”

When the book girl finally found her voice, Crowley wished she hadn’t.

“I burned it.” 

A low hiss slipped past the demon’s lips, and he felt his fangs unwittingly appearing as he bared his teeth in anger. The witch visibly shrunk beneath his gaze. He didn’t fucking care. She should be afraid.

“You  _ WHAT? _ ”

“I-I burned the whole thing, ok? I was sent a new book after the apocalypse didn’t happen and- and I was tired of being a descendent and I didn’t think-“

“OF COUR _ SSSS _ E YOU DIDN’T. YOU HUMANS _ SSS  _ RARELY DO!”

“I didn’t think it  _ mattered!  _ I thought it’d just be another book telling us how to get rich quick. I didn’t think that – that it’d be anything  _ serious _ .”

“No, ‘course not. The last one just had instructions to stop the end of the bloody world. Why would part two be anything  _ sssssserious? _ ”

“I-“

“We have to find a way to talk to him.  _ Now. _ ”

Anathema had the good grace to nod, and Crowley was ready to simply drag her to Heaven to demand answers when Adam popped his head between them.

“Excuse me, Mr. Crowley, but what’s going on?”

Crowley grinned down at the child, fangs on full display. Adam didn’t move, or even bother to react. Crowley was losing his touch.

“What’s going on is Aziraphale is Upstairs in Heaven as some  _ example  _ in  _ chains _ and the witch here burned our only direct answers to finding him.”

“ _ Crowley _ .”

“Sounds interesting. Can we help?”

“No. Go play your game.” Crowley turned his glare back to Anathema. “I need to talk to the witch alone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so excited to write and post this chapter for a long time - I hope you enjoy reading I as much as i enjoyed writing it!  
As ever, I always appreciate Kudos and comments - your support means the absolute world to me!


	8. Shadow of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me so long - school this term hit me like a ton of bricks!  
Recommended song: In the Woods Somewhere by Hozier

“Where are we going, Crowley?”

Anathema gripped the car handle above her head as she and Crowley sped down the M25 away from Tadfield.

“Heaven,” he said simply, not taking his eyes off the road for the first time in his many years of driving.

“And what exactly do you hope to accomplish there? Are we going to just storm the place until we find Aziraphale?”

“Essentially, yes. And kill anyone along the way who dared lay a hand on him.”

“We don’t even know if anyone  _ has  _ laid a hand on him! Look, I’m suspicious, too, but we can’t just go into this without thinking!”

Crowley’s grip around the wheel tightened, but his speed didn’t waver.

“I thought every one of those Nutter prophecies were true. You saying you don’t believe her? It said he was bound in bloody fucking  _ chains _ . That’s not nothing,  _ witch _ .”

Anathema frowned, looking down at her hands nervously.

“Just because they’re always right doesn’t mean they’re always clear,” she grumbled. “We don’t even have the whole thing, maybe there’s something we’re missing.”

“How much bloody clearer can it get than ‘ _ a warning to those who is’t disobey _ ’?”

“Look, I’m not saying it’s nothing! I’m just saying we have to think about what we’re doing. Let’s say he is in danger and we just burst into Heaven without thinking. What then? There’s a lot more of them than there are of us. They were planning a war to end all wars, so clearly they aren’t weak! If we go Up There and end up dead, then who will be left to help Aziraphale? We’ve got to be smart about this, Crowley. For him.”

The demon faltered, his foot loosening on the gas. He hated to admit it, but she was right. There was no doubt he would have loved taking down every angel that dared stand in the way of him and  _ his _ angel, but if he did, he wouldn’t last very long. He couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Aziraphale alone Up There with no one left to come for him. They had to be realistic.

“Fine,” he said, gaze finally meeting the witches. “If we don’t storm Heaven, then what exactly do you suggest we do?”

“Well, we can’t go accusing them of taking him face-to-face, but is there some sort of way we can call them? A direct phone line to Heaven or something?”

“They don’t exactly walk around with cellphones Up There,” he paused, considering his options. “But there is one way we can get through to them. I can’t do it alone, though.”

“Even if you could, you wouldn’t have to,” she said, smiling softly. Crowley knew it was meant to be comforting, but he was infuriated at how kindly she was treating him.

“Right, sure, well, it’s a sort of summoning circle, but you don’t use it to summon them exactly. Just give them a little call. If you use the right prayer, of course. Problem is, I can’t touch the circle without it burning me. So, I’ll need you to do the ritual before we can call.”

“Great! How exactly do we make one of these circles?”

Crowley hesitated. Truth was, he had no idea how to make an angelic summoning circle. He’d never needed one before. 

Humans had some records of their theories but, as with most things’ humans did, their summoning circles were weak. They also tended to perform the wrong functions.

One time, a human had created a circle to try to contact an angel of the Lord. Their information told them to use a sacrificial lamb in order to finish the ritual, but instead of calling upon Aziraphale, the human had “gifted” him the sacrificial lamb. Aziraphale complained about the stain on his bookshop floor for  _ weeks _ after that incident, and Crowley had, of course, finally relented and removed it for him.

Truthfully, the only summoning circle he knew of was inside Aziraphale’s shop. The shop that was now inhabited by the very thief that was selling Aziraphale’s books. And the only way they could safely use that circle to contact Aziraphale was if the replacement left the shop.

***

Crowley had stationed himself outside of Aziraphale’s bookshop, desperate to find an opening in which he could use the circle. Unlike Aziraphale, who only ever shut himself into his shop when he was too lost in a book to put it down, this replacement rarely left the sanctity of the bookshop.

Even more frustrating was the fact that this other angel never actually seemed to be doing anything in there aside from selling books (which Crowley, of course, took right back thanks to a series of minor miracles), and “spread the word of God” in some bullshit, backwards way. He didn’t even seem to perform many miracles, and certainly never for the right reasons.

A simple compulsion miracle here to convince people that they should turn towards God, or a miracle there to cause doubt in any non-secular religious beliefs.

Aziraphale’s miracles had been self-indulgent, sure, but at least they weren’t utter horseshit like this replacement’s were. These seemed less like Heavenly miracles and more like cheating. Though, to be fair, Hell and Heaven had both done their fair share of cheating over the years.

In order to avoid drawing attention to himself, Crowley was moving between different cafés in the area and using his angelic sense to monitor the replacement’s location. This sense wasn’t nearly as accurate as it had been with Aziraphale, whose presence he could sense from halfway across the continent, and whose location he could pinpoint almost exactly. Still, Crowley could sense the presence as being somewhere (he assumed the bookshop, though he couldn’t tell for certain) within a couple blocks of him.

In the end it took three weeks of panicked waiting before Crowley reached out his angelic sense to find nothing. The replacement was gone. Now was his chance.

***

“Thanks for paying for my hotel, Crowley,” said Anathema as she began to light the candles surrounding the newly uncovered summoning circle in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“Ngk. Don’t thank me. Didn’t do it for you. You wouldn’t have been able to get here fast enough if you’d come all the way from Tadfield.”

“Mm, right. Candles are lit. What now?”

“Now, erg, now we pray.” Crowley’s heart pounded in his chest. For the last two months he had wanted seldom more than to see Aziraphale’s face again, but now that he was so close to seeing him, he was afraid. What if Aziraphale was perfectly fine, but scolded Crowley for reaching out? What if Aziraphale told him that their goodbye had been to spare his feelings, but that Aziraphale had wanted to leave for a long time? Worse, what if the prophecy was what it seemed, and his angel had been chained, or hurt by those bastards Up There?

The demon felt something heavy settle in his stomach. Swallowing his fear, Crowley motioned to the eastern end of the circle.

“He’s guardian of the Eastern Gate, so his circle only works on that side.” Anathema nodded and stood facing the circle. She folded her hands together.

“Just like this?”

Crowley shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine. M’not exactly praying regularly, am I? Though – I guess I’ve seen Aziraphale close his eyes when he does it.”

The witch nodded and closed her eyes, her folded hands slick with sweat. Crowley’s own hands were stuffed in his pockets to hide how they, too, were covered in sweat. 

“Um, hi. My name is Anathema Device. I’m looking to speak to – um, well, someone who can answer an important question. Erm, someone who can tell us the truth.”

Suddenly, the darkened room was flooded with a bright light. Even with his sunglasses, Crowley found himself squinting into the heavenly glow. Anathema cracked open one of her umber eyes as Crowley slid into place beside her.

When the initial glow faded, it left the face of a female-presenting angel with dark skin and eyes. Her curls, which faded from a dark brown into a shining gold, cascaded down her shoulders.

“Angelic support centre, department of truth. This is Caliel speaking, how may I bless you today?”

Her smile was warm and kind, but Crowley felt a growl building up in his chest. The fear of what could have happened to Aziraphale overtaking him.

“I need to s _ ssspeak _ with the angel Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed, flashing the angel a menacing glare. “ _ Now. _ ”

The angel paled, glancing over her shoulders at the others around her. A few heads turned away from calls to look at the mention of Aziraphale’s name, but seemed to just as quickly be pulled back into their tasks, pretending not to have heard.

“Um, can I ask who I’m speaking with? Which one of you is Anathema Device?”

“The name’s Crowley. Demon. You know, the one who helped stop the apocalypse, immune to holy water. Ringing any bells, truthy?” He was bluffing of course, hoping that putting a little fear in these angels might get him some answers sooner. By the way the angel blanched, Crowley guessed he made the right choice.

“Right, yes, that one! Of course. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to patch him through straight away. Just, um, give me one moment.”

She pulled out a pad of paper and quickly scribbled something down before the image faded, leaving behind a tinny, instrumental version of “My Favourite Things” from  _ The Sound of Music.  _

***

Aziraphale was on his hands and knees, having recently been re-introduced to Nathanael and his holy flame. Nothing about this process  _ felt  _ holy, especially without his connection to the Almighty.

At least there was one thing that had changed in the three weeks since Aziraphale’s first angelic break. Since his meeting with Caliel, Aziraphale had seen Caliel’s symbol of solidarity with increasing frequency amongst the angels. When she wasn’t busy with her own heavenly duties, Caliel would stop by to watch his punishment, her kindness radiating through the jeers and laughter of the other surrounding angels. He knew she couldn’t help, but her presence, or the presence of others with his symbol, was a comfort.

Occasionally, when the punishment was opened up to the public, angels bearing his symbol would pretend to throw a punch, but with miraculous intervention they would heal him ever so slightly instead. Just enough to relieve the pain, but not so much that it was noticeable.

Other times, the angels would approach with food, which they would “force” him to eat, claiming it would sully his view of food. He would force it down, pretending to be overcome by disgust. In truth, it was gratitude that overwhelmed him in those moments, no matter how rare they were.

He was still afraid, he was still hurting, but for once he wasn’t alone in his mantra. Others were on his side. His and Crowley’s. He knew he would be here forever, but it was easier to grip his sanity, his faith, when he knew that others believed what he did. 

Now, with flames against his skin, tears clouding his vision, he looked out upon the crowd of angels to see Caliel’s familiar face gently pushing through the crowd. Relief hit him first, his features relaxing, until he saw the panicked expression that she wore.

She knocked gently on the door, holding a portable sigil and a clipboard.

Nathanael pulled the flame away from Aziraphale’s face, but not before leaning in with a whispered, “I’m not done with you, Traitor.”

Aziraphale forced his grimace into a smile.

“I expected no less.”

With a satisfied grin, Nathanael motioned for Caliel to enter through the glass door.

“Afternoon, dear girl. I take it you’ve been assigned to assist Nathanael with my punishment?” He didn’t miss the way she forced her own grimace into a false smirk at the idea of harming another.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t make the cut. But I’ll be here next time it’s opened to the public.” She turned to face Nathanael. “The demon called.”

Nathanael’s confident grin fell, anxiety peeking through his bravado for the first time. Aziraphale, on the other hand, straightened up from where he knelt on the floor.

“He asked to speak with the Traitor. He was so angry. I didn’t know what to tell him. I said I’d go get him right away. The demon knows he’s Up Here, but he just thinks it’s a promotion, right? If it’s just a promotion, how could I say no?”

Nathanael’s gaze flicked between the crowd and Caliel, panicked.

“Close the door,” he said. She did, and Nathanael waved his hand so that the glass turned back into an opaque white wall, leaving them alone. He turned on Caliel, and Aziraphale shifted protectively. “Why didn’t you tell him the Traitor doesn’t  _ want  _ to take calls from demons?”

“Well, that simply wouldn’t be realistic, would-” Aziraphale was cut off by a kick to the stomach that knocked him back to the floor.

“I guess I just didn’t think of that. I panicked; I’m not used to lying!”

Nathanael groaned and began pacing. When his back was turned, Caliel turned to face Aziraphale with a wink.

Clever old gal.

“Wouldn’t it be best if we just let them talk? You know, rid him of any suspicion?”

“Not when he looks like  _ this. _ ” Nathanael gestured down at Aziraphale’s burnt, bruised, and broken body.

“That’s terribly impolite.” He huffed, earning another kick to the stomach. Not that it mattered anymore. He had new hope, the chance to speak with Crowley one more time. He knew it was selfish, but perhaps he could make up for the way their last meeting ended.

“I could heal him,” Caliel offered. Nathanael scoffed.

“He doesn’t get a reward out of this  _ trick _ .” He paused, looking down at Aziraphale, lips curling in disgust before shifting into a grin. “I’ll do you one better. A mirage.”

Aziraphale watched Caliel’s face fall before she caught herself. She forced a polite smile.

“Oh, yes. Great idea. A mirage. No healing whatsoever just…pretend that he’s not injured. Very vengeful, principality Nathanael. Very, uh, clever.”

Nathanael grabbed at Aziraphale’s bloodied collar, wrenching him to unsteady feet. Pain shot through his body, his very broken ribs shifting painfully at the change of posture. He wrapped an arm around his middle, righting himself to the best of his ability.

Nathanael’s boney hand grasped his shoulder, digging slightly into the burns he had just inflicted minutes earlier. At his touch, a scene unfolded around them. An office space appeared before him; a desk filled with papers behind him. He looked down at himself as his injuries and his white wings disappeared. His garment shifted into the same white suit that Aziraphale had worn when he was discorporated. The chains around his neck faded into nothing, but Aziraphale could still feel the weight of them around his neck. To the naked eye, Aziraphale appeared entirely healthy, his prison transformed into a workplace.

Once the mirage was complete, Caliel held up her portable sigil, and Crowley materialized before him, Anathema by his side. Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from smiling so widely it hurt. God, his demon was beautiful. So much more beautiful than the grainy images he had seen of him these past weeks, sat alone in different café’s in Soho.

“Aziraphale. Angel.”

Oh, his voice. Aziraphale had forgotten how incredible it was. How could he have forgotten?

“Crowley, my dearest,” he said, fighting against the lump in his throat. “It’s lovely to see you again. And you, Anathema. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Crowley, ever expressive despite the sunglasses, frowned.

“You’re- you’re alright?”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. The worry in Crowley’s voice was clear, and it hurt to hear. He wanted so badly to take it away. He never wanted to see his wonderful demon afraid.

“Of course I am. Whyever would you think otherwise, my dear?”

“Ngh, well, I just thought – I haven’t heard from you. And he’s  _ selling _ your books.” Crowley’s eyes flicked, barely visible through his glasses, to Nathanael, brows knit in disgust. “Angel, you can’t be okay with this.”

Nathanael was doing  _ what _ ?

Aziraphale cleared his throat, fighting through the rising, rageful heat in his body. He plastered on a diplomatic smile.

“Ah, er, yes. Well, that's, erm, actually why he’s here right now. We’re just discussing his job on earth, and how it’s best for keeping up appearances if the books aren’t sold. He’s  _ just  _ assured me that he won’t be selling anymore books. Isn’t that right, Nathanael?”

The two angels made eye contact, anger radiating off of both of them.

“That’s right,” he replied through clenched teeth, the grip on Aziraphale’s shoulder tightening.

Crowley looked between them, confused.

“I was just – Aziraphale, why didn’t you take the books with you?”

Aziraphale’s gaze flickered to the floor momentarily.

“Ah, well, it’s Heaven, isn’t it? They’ve got every book I could ever want Up Here. No need for silly earthly versions.” He laughed dryly.

Crowley shifted uncomfortably.

“Right, ngk, ‘course. You’re happy Up There, I get it, angel.”

Aziraphale’s heart shattered, and Nathanael’s grip was tightening, his foot tapping impatiently. He wanted this done, but Aziraphale couldn’t leave it like this. He couldn’t let Crowley think he was unimportant when he was the one thing that made Aziraphale’s world turn.

“You must be happy too, my dear. I kept my promise to you. I’ve been watching over you when I can. I’ve seen you with Anathema, with the children. I’ve seen how well you’ve been doing without me.”

Nathanael’s fingers were digging into Aziraphale’s burn, but he pressed on.

“I, ah, I miss you, Crowley. I do. But this is for the best, truly. You’ll be happier down there without – well, with the others. Keep yourself busy, my dear. Keep yourself happy. Please, be happy. Anathema, keep him company, won’t you?”

Aziraphale felt the burn on his shoulder reopening under Nathanael’s tightening grasp, bleeding beneath the mirage.

“I should get going, my dear, but don’t you worry about me. I’m perfectly alright. Just tickety boo. Just, please Crowley, remember you’re never alone.” He finished with a smile, drinking in the last moments of seeing Crowley’s face before Caliel disconnected the call.

Nathanael released Aziraphale’s shoulder, and immediately the peaceful scene around them faded, leaving behind an injured, bleeding angel. Suddenly, there were hands around his neck, and Aziraphale was being slammed into the wall.

“What made you think you could disobey me like that, Traitor?”

“Was j’st – try’n t’ – be – c’nvincing,” Aziraphale choked out, just barely, through the tightening grip around his throat.

Nathanael lifted Aziraphale, stronger than his boney physique suggested, and threw him to the ground. Aziraphale landed hard, and before he could gasp for desperately needed air, Nathanael was standing over him again. He hadn’t time to breathe, to think between angered blows to his stomach, his back, his head, everywhere. He wasn’t sure when the flames were incorporated, but suddenly he was engulfed in them. His face, his body, his  _ wings  _ were burning, and the blows didn’t stop coming.

Aziraphale was crying, in too much pain to stop it. He was begging someone,  _ anyone _ to make it stop. Finally, mercifully, with a heel connecting roughly with the side of his head, it did stop, and Aziraphale lost consciousness.

***

Back in the bookshop, the disconnected sigil flashed suddenly, and a note flew out.

In a call centre up in Heaven, Caliel smiled. She was ready for a change. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta [sometimeseffable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeseffable/pseuds/sometimeseffable) for being incredible as always, and editing this chapter so quickly for me. You're too kind to me! <3


	9. A Little More Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended song: Human By Daughter

The Heavenly glow that had filled the bookshop faded, along with the image of Aziraphale’s smiling face. Crowley was relieved, more than anything, that Aziraphale was safe. He’d spent nearly three weeks thinking of very little aside from the awful things Heaven could have done to him. He hadn’t been able to shake the fear of seeing his angel bloodied or bruised. Without his ever-growing panic, however, Crowley was left feeling numb.

In some twisted way, Crowley’s fear had given him hope. Not hope that Aziraphale would be hurt, but hope that he could swoop in just in time to bring Aziraphale safely back to Earth before any harm befell him. He’d hoped against everything that he could be Aziraphale’s hero, and that maybe things would go back to the way they were.

Crowley wasn’t a hero, though. He was a demon, and Aziraphale was an angel. An angel who was happy in Heaven, without him.

“We should get going,” the demon grumbled, furious at his voice for the way that it quivered.

Anathema reached out to touch his shoulder. “Like I said, the prophecies aren’t always what they seem. I guess we just… had it wrong.”

Crowley grit his teeth and shifted away from her touch. “Got it. Yep. Not the first time I’ve been wrong about him.” 

He stared at his feet, too numb to make the first move out the door.

“He misses you,” Anathema asserted after a moment of silence.

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, come on. He said it himself. And even you must have seen the way he looked at you. He practically begged you to be happy, Crowley. Even you’ve got to see-”

“I think I’d like it if you left now, witch.” It was barely a whisper, but it was all he could manage.

“Crowley-”

“Leave, before I do something-” He never got to finish his threat. He was interrupted by a blinding glow from the centre of the room. The sigil had reconnected momentarily. Crowley squinted into the light, nearly missing the piece of paper that flew out. He reached a hand out just in time and caught it deftly between his fingers.

It was a call-feedback form from Heaven’s department of truth. Crowley was about to crumple it up and toss it to the floor when he noticed a note scribbled along the bottom of it.

_ “Things were not as they seemed. If you want to see the truth beyond the mirage, then meet me at the Eastern gate portal on the third Monday of September at two in the afternoon. I mean you no harm, but I must ask that you come alone.” _

Underneath the scrawled note was a looped signature which formed a glowing sigil. Crowley recognized its golden glow: it was a sigil of trust, a promise to keep one’s word and to do no harm.

Most demons wouldn’t have seen this symbol before, given that it was in their job description to deceive. Crowley, however, had been forced to write this symbol many times himself. Ever since 1608, when Aziraphale realized that he’d been cheating at Backgammon for centuries. The angel pouted and refused to play board games with him for _ months _ until Crowley finally agreed to sign the sigil stating he would play fair.

The symbol wasn’t _ designed _for honest board-game nights, of course. Aziraphale told him that it had originally been used following the first War in Heaven as a way to ensure the loyalty of all the remaining angels. Now, it was being used to promise Crowley that something was terribly wrong.

How could he have been so _ stupid?_

“What does it say?” Anathema asked, entirely too confident in herself. Crowley had hoped his threats, even unfinished, inspired more fear than that. Bloody humans.

“Call feedback form from Heaven,” Crowley shrugged, knowing that if he told Anathema the truth she would insist on going with him. He made a show of crumpling up the form. “I s_s__ss_till think you should leave.”

The witch frowned.

“Fine. But I still expect to see you at Pepper’s birthday next week,” she said, lips pursed as she turned away from the demon and left the bookshop.

Crowley waited until her figure had faded into the distance before exiting the shop and sliding into his Bentley.

It was a quick drive back to his flat in Mayfair, and he gripped the note tightly between white-knuckled fingers for the entirety of his trip. Upon arriving home, the demon settled into his throne, which he was absolutely undeserving of, and performed a quick miracle to restore the now crumpled note to pristine form.

Only Heaven knew what bloody truth was being covered by a fucking mirage, what horrors his angel was facing thanks to him. And now a mysterious angel with a mysterious motive was promising _ Crolwey’s _ safety. _ I mean you no harm _ meant fuck-all to him when Aziraphale was Up in Heaven alone. He despised the idea of waiting an entire week to find out what was being hidden. Of course, he knew _ why _ this mysterious angel had chosen the third Monday of September – it was the angelic day of rest. Possibly the only day Heaven wouldn’t be swarming with angels just itching to smite the next demon they saw. That fact was the only reason Crowley wasn’t moving to storm Heaven immediately.

He just loathed the idea that something horrible could happen to his angel while he sat comfortably in his perfectly bloody safe home. It was ridiculous. Whether Aziraphale had gone back to Heaven by choice or not, Crowley should have never let his insecurity fog his judgement like that. He _ knew _that those bastards were bad news, but he’d let his anger, his fear that the angel was choosing Heaven over him, cloud his ability to reason. Now it was the angel, not him, who was paying for it.

***

Nathanael’s last visit had been very unpleasant, but since he’d left Aziraphale’s punishment hadn’t changed. Much to the angel’s relief, his call with Crowley hadn’t caused things Up Here to go pear shaped, as the demon would say. At least, not more so than they already were. 

He was still being visited by many unpleasant angels who were bent on causing him pain, but he had also noticed an increase in the number of angels who bore his symbol. Some were even kind enough to heal some of the internal injuries which were bringing him uncomfortably close to discorporation. While it still seemed like there were many more angels who were excited or fearful of his punishment, it brought him great comfort to know that there was a growing number of those who chose to be kind, instead.

Caliel truly was a wonder. To gather so many in support of bettering Heaven was truly inspiring. To use Aziraphale as a symbol of that belief was even more impressive. He wasn’t going to pretend he was a horrible creature, but he wasn’t exactly the picture of what an angel should be, either. Perhaps he wasn’t quite fitting as an angel, but as a human he liked to think he was perfectly alright. Aziraphale knew he was terribly flawed. That was something he’d learned after many unkind reprimands from his own superiors. That being said, he wasn’t one to stand by while others were hurt unnecessarily, as would have been the case should that awful War have happened. That’s what humans were meant for, wasn’t it? To be flawed, but not unworthy of kindness. 

It eased Aziraphale’s mind to know that his pain served another purpose. At least, with the tortures he would endure for eternity, he had hope that they would pave the way to the betterment of Heaven.

Oh, but he really was a terrible angel, because this reason still paled in comparison to the motivation he felt to protect Crowley from harm.

Crowley, whose voice alone was able to heal Aziraphale’s tattered, broken heart. Aziraphale knew that the demon didn’t love him, but something about the way his voice quivered with worry made Aziraphale feel cared for. To feel such care from the being who had given him everything - it gave him a twisted sort of comfort. 

Oh, he was a terrible friend as well, wasn’t he? To take comfort in his demon’s fear. Aziraphale could only hope that he’d been able to take at least some of that terrible worry away when they’d spoken.

Aziraphale never intended to return, he would never risk Crowley’s safety like that, but perhaps their conversation had put his mind at ease. Possibly even given him some well-deserved closure, something Aziraphale had failed to do the first time he’d said goodbye.

He hoped desperately that he had done better, _ been _better for Crowley this time around. That, alongside the gathering support of angels on his side, and the knowledge that he’d be updated on Crowley’s whereabouts soon, made the next week of torture entirely more bearable. 

It was nearing the end of the week when Gabriel and Uriel visited his prison, flanked by four lesser angels. Usually the archangels weren’t the ones to give Aziraphale his weekly updates on the demon, but it was only hours until the next angelic break. Surely, they weren’t intending to go on break without showing it to him.

“Traitor. It’s been a while,” Gabriel said, smirking down at the principality with a familiarly forced smile.

Aziraphale pushed a similar one onto his own face. His ribs still burned from the collection of recent beatings, but he forced himself to stand on unsteady feet regardless. He refused to let Gabriel belittle him, even here.

“Gabriel, Uriel. To what do I owe the pleasure? Surely you’re here to give me my usual update?”

The archangel tutted, standing up straighter to ensure he was still looking down at Aziraphale, who refused to shrink away from his piercing gaze. 

“Well, sunshine, we heard you’ve been misbehaving. Stepping out of line in your little phone call with the demon.”

Aziraphale’s chest constricted.

“Well, I would hardly call that-”

“The fact that your disgusting little demon even suspected anything is enough to make us wonder if you’re holding up your end of the deal,” Uriel spat.

“Exactly,” Gabriel continued. Unlike Uriel’s righteous anger, Gabriel’s voice was steady, assured. “For all we know, you broke our agreement from the start. Arranged some little escape plan to get you both out of here. Not that either of you could ever hide from us.”

“I swear I haven’t-”

“Now, you remember what we agreed upon, don’t you? Your little demon only stays safe if you cooperate. And you clearly haven’t been cooperating, have you?” Gabriel crowded Aziraphale’s space, and the angel stumbled backwards slightly, unable to regain his confident stature in his growing panic. 

“I _ swear _I haven’t arranged anything,” he pleaded. “I did just as you asked, and he grew suspicious all on his own. M-Maybe Nathanael-”

“Now, now, Traitor. Don’t go blaming your esteemed replacement. He has been doing his best to clean up after your mess on earth, and now he’s picking up the pieces of your little communication mishap with the demon. Even if you weren’t conspiring, you clearly haven’t been upholding your side of the deal. I have every reason to go and inform Hell of your little scheme at this point.”

Tears formed in Aziraphale’s eyes, his hands curling into fists by his side.

“No, Gabriel _ please!_ I didn’t mean to step out of line. I swear I haven’t given him any reason to suspect what’s really happening. I just got carried away seeing him again. I promise you he won’t find out, he won’t come looking.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his middle, teeth clenched in his desperation. He ignored the flaring pain in his ribs as he hugged himself tightly. He had been selfish, wanting to see Crowley again. If the demon was hurt because of him, he quite frankly deserved the pain.

“I’m not sure your word is enough at this point,” Uriel sneered, leering over him as they had the day he’d been cornered outside his bookshop.

“It seems to me that your actions are almost worthy of Falling,” Gabriel continued, looking almost bored at this point. “If you were to Fall, Hell would _ certainly _ find out about your little trick. Maybe they can dunk you both in the same bath of holy water. That way you can _ watch _as he melts away into nothing.”

Truthfully, Aziraphale was far past the point of caring what side he technically belonged to, but Gabriel was right. If Aziraphale Fell, then Hell would grow suspicious. They’d find out that Crowley wasn’t really immune to holy water and they’d destroy him. He couldn’t let that happen. 

“_Please, _Gabriel, Uriel, I’ll do anything to prove I’m not working with him.”

Gabriel shook his head, then turned to leave the room. “I’m just not sure-”

“Please,” Aziraphale begged, reaching out one of his hands to grab at Gabriel’s sleeve. “I don’t want to Fall. I’ll do anything you want. Anything at all to prove to you that I’m telling the truth.”

Gabriel stopped, slowly turning back to face Aziraphale. Tears were now running down the angel’s battered cheeks, tracking through the dried blood on his face.

“I _ suppose_, if you’re really serious, there might be one thing you can do to convince me.” 

“Yes, I’ll do it. Doesn’t matter what it is, I’ll do it. Just keep him safe, please.”

“Well, it’s clear to us that you aren’t an angel anymore. And you’re so ready to tell us that you aren’t a demon either.”

Aziraphale nodded, confused. “Right, er, not a demon. Absolutely nothing demonic about me. So, what are you trying to say, then?”

“Given how obsessed you became with those humans, it seems to me you’re more desperate to be like them. That’s why you tried to use your little trick. Trying to convince us you’d gone local.”

Aziraphale didn’t understand, but he would take anything that steered Gabriel away from Crowley.

“Sure, yes. I’m positively as human as they come.”

“Unlike Falling, which you _ apparently _don’t want to do, is that right?” He looked expectantly at Aziraphale, who had begun fidgeting with his fingers nervously.

“Oh, er, yes. That’s right.”

Gabriel gave a satisfied smile before continuing.

“Well, unlike Falling, we can’t simply make you into a human, can we? But we can certainly give you something closer to the human experience you’ve always craved.”

Aziraphale knit his brows together, sparing a glance at Gabriel, away from his trembling hands. He hated the menacing gleam in those violet eyes. 

“You’ve already cut off my connection to Her with these,” he said, tugging at the chains around his neck. “How much more human can you make me?”

Gabriel’s smile grew.

“You see, Traitor, you’ve still got one thing those pesky little humans don’t.”

Aziraphale had been so distracted in his desperation that he hadn’t noticed that the lesser angels had moved to stand behind him. Two veered to pin his arms to his sides while the others grabbed hold of his wings. They stretched them out painfully so that the muscle connecting them to his back was exposed. 

Wide blue eyes met violet ones as Aziraphale finally understood.

“M-My wings? You want my wings?”

Gabriel tutted. “You did say you’d do anything to convince us. Besides, you’d lose these wings if you Fell anyways. I’m just being merciful. Sparing you from losing your wings _ and _your disgusting little demon. But, of course, if you aren’t serious about protecting him, we can always put through the order to make you Fall, instead. Of course we’d also be contacting Hell with the information about your little trick.”

The grip around his wings loosened, and Aziraphale dropped to his knees in desperation.

“_No,” _Aziraphale begged, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, I-I’ll do it. You can take my wings, please just spare him. I beg of you, just keep Crowley safe.”

“Very well. Uriel?”

Aziraphale opened his eyes just in time to see Uriel produce a long blade. The grip on Aziraphale’s wings tightened once more, and in a moment of desperation, he looked out into the crowd of spectators. Standing in the front of the crowd were three angel’s that Aziraphale recognized, each wearing a necklace with his symbol around their neck. He knew they were powerless to stop what was happening, but as they all touched a hand to the symbol around their necks, he knew he wasn’t alone.

He closed his eyes once more, and pictured Crowley’s long arms wrapped around him in a comforting embrace. He pictured long fingers running gently through his hair. Aziraphale imagined the rough hands gripping his feathers to be the much gentler hands of his serpent, helping him preen his wings.

He heard as Uriel shifted, felt the tug of his wings into the perfect position.

A broken sob escaped his lips, and he tried to bite back another. 

There was a sharp, blinding pain as the blade connected with the base of both wings, followed by the steady drip of blood and tears on the once pristine white floors. 

Aziraphale’s body was released, and he slumped forward with a series of heaving sobs. Gabriel bent down beside him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head up so their eyes met.

“Oh, and in case you didn’t catch on, you haven’t _ earned _an update on your demon this week. See you Tuesday, sunshine.” 

With a smile he dropped Aziraphale’s head and waved a hand to the crowd before turning to leave with the others. The crowd of angels dispersed, and Aziraphale was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those of you who have stuck with me this far - I promise it gets better from here. This was by far the saddest chapter for me to write! it was also one of the hardest - I started writing it almost a month ago and I've been drafting and re-drafting it since.  
I also really want to thank everyone who was so patient for my updates. School has been kicking my butt, but with quarantine I've got a bit more time of my hands, so here we are!  
As always, your comments and kudos are appreciated!


	10. Close to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for waiting -  
This chapters recommended song is "I miss you" by mxmtoon

Crowley was minutes away from Aziraphale’s shop, white-knuckled hands clenched around the wheel of his Bentley.

It had been a week since Crowley had last seen Aziraphale’s smiling face, assuring him that all was well in Heaven. Crowley cursed himself because, despite everything, he hated how blessedly happy he had looked, the walls of Heaven so white they made his smile glow. His office space hadn’t been messy like the angel’s bookshop usually was, but it certainly looked used. The Replacement had been with him, too, a firm grip on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The two were standing so close you’d think they’d been best friends for thousands of years. Crowley had feared that maybe Aziraphale was like that with everyone, that Crowley had never been special. The demon’s fingernails dug into the leather steering wheel, which didn’t leave a single mark simply because Crowley expected it not to.

Crowley had been so  _ certain  _ that Aziraphale was happy Up There. Why else would the angel have gone if not to be happy? Crowley had spent the last week going over it in his mind: every moment of their last conversation, of the one they’d had when the angel had left, for any  _ sign _ that Aziraphale might have given that any of this was a mirage.

The mysterious angel’s call-feedback form was gripped between Crowley’s sweaty fingers. The symbol of trust was impervious to damage, so it still shone brightly, but the rest was frayed and quite frankly falling apart. As he’d been doing almost constantly for the past week, Crowley glanced down at the note and re-read its fading letters, desperate for it to be different this time. As he studied it, however, as it  _ always  _ bloody did, the note only confirmed what he already knew: Aziraphale was not okay.

How had Crowley missed it?

He had run through the moment of Aziraphale’s departure over and over in his mind, trying to find the signs that something was off. Truthfully, Crowley had been too distracted to take in the angel’s emotions, but he  _ must  _ have been excited. Why would he have left if he wasn’t excited?

Crowley knew, deep down (not that he would ever admit he even  _ had  _ a deep down) that he was afraid of what Aziraphale’s lack of excitement could have meant. He was afraid that Aziraphale hadn’t really been as enthusiastic to return to Heaven as he was to  _ escape _ Earth. Not just Earth, but the new circumstances that came with averting the apocalypse.  _ Their own side. _

The dread that Aziraphale would get sick of their own side had haunted him since that night at the Tadfield bus stop. He assumed it would happen eventually, he just hadn’t thought it’d be so soon.

The reason for the angel’s sudden departure may have been unclear, but Crowley did know that it was his own ignorance that was the blame for whatever bloody horrific things Heaven was doing to Aziraphale now. Crowley wasn’t supposed to be afraid of others’ suffering, but he dreaded to see whatever lay beyond the “mirage”. He could only hope – not pray, he was _ not  _ bloody praying – that Heaven was simply leaving passive aggressive notes on his desk, that his angel was ignoring their taunts, that they hadn’t hurt him because of Crowley’s blasted stubbornness.

The sudden sight of the bookshop right in front of him snapped Crowley from his thoughts. Tyres screeched against the pavement, and a simple demonic miracle ensured the car in front of him moved a few spots down. With luck, this might even cause a very confused human to question themselves for believing they’d parked two spots down from where their car now sat. It was the little acts of unkindness that did it for Crowley.

To be sure it wasn’t an ambush, Crowley quickly reached out his angelic sense toward the bookshop, and thankfully found it empty. It was, Crowley realized, the angelic day of rest after all, and clearly the Replacement thought he was Above staying on Earth for such an occasion. It made sense that this mysterious renegade angel would pick a date like this to meet with a demon.

Aziraphale hadn’t been allowed to partake in the angelic day of rest at first, but the first time he had been offered it in 1684 he’d chosen to go to lunch with Crowley instead. He was wringing his hands the moment they arrived and, in classic Aziraphale fashion, he’d refused to admit that he was nervous.

_ “Even if I were, whyever would I share that with a demon? You’ll simply use it to gain an advantage.” _

_ “What kind of advantage could I possibly gain by knowing which of those wankers in Heaven made you nervous this time?” _

_ Aziraphale feigned offence, but Crowley saw the affectionate smile that lay beneath the gaping mouth. _

_ “I’m sure you would find a way, you sly serpent.” _

It had taken a three-course meal and two full bottles of wine to get it out of him. With slurred speech and a hand clumsily laid on Crowley’s knee, the angel had questioned whether he’d done the  _ Right  _ thing by denying his first opportunity to partake in this day of rest.

_ “Avoiding Heaven to spend the day with a demon, are you?” _

_ Aziraphale pulled his hand away from Crowley’s leg, drawing in on himself. _

_ “Now, it s’nothing like that. Don’t flatter yourself, fool… fall… foo-well…” _

_ “Foul fiend?” _

_ “Yes, that. I w’s just try’n to be humble. S’mthing demons wouldn’t ‘nderstand, surely.” _

_ “Surely.” _

_ “N’ moreover…” _

_ “You’re too drunk to say foul fiend but you’re still saying ‘moreover’?” Crowley smirked fondly at his angel, too buzzed himself to be able to help it. _

_ Aziraphale attempted to scowl back, but failed to cover his own grin. _

_ “Hush now, dear b– I mean, demon. I was try’na say… that it was necessary for me t’ stay. I have a duty here on Earth. ‘F I start… taking a break ev’ry month then some demon might start causing trouble when m’ not here.” _

_ “Right, well there you are, then,” Crowley said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. _

_ “Yes, there I am. Wait. Where m’ I?” _

_ “If you’re not takin’ a break because you’re here… protecting the Earth from the likes of…well, me, then you have no reason to be worried ‘bout whether you did the right thing.” _

_ Realization dawned on the angel’s features, and he nodded enthusiastically. _

_ “I feel very… thwarted right now. No Evil plans from me today. All thanks to the cunning Enemy who stayed on Earth instead of resting. Who knows what I could have gotten up to today if not for you. Might’ve gone and stolen the king's horses.” _

_ Aziraphale giggled, his posture opening up once more, welcoming Crowley back in. _

_ “Not to mention all the king’s men. Then they’d never put… hoompy t’gther again.” _

_ “You mean Humpty?” _

_ “Yes, that.” _

Crowley smiled fondly at the memory. It all felt so simple, then. Aziraphale was bound to Earth by duty, but it meant they could spend all the time they’d wanted together. With no duty tying the angel to Earth, Crowley had thought they’d be free, not... whatever this was.

The demon glanced over at the pendulum clock on the bookshop wall, it read 1:59. Crowley ground his teeth and made his way over to the angelic portal, pulling out a bottle of salt from his coat to prepare himself for safe transport to Heaven if needed.

Exactly one minute later, the portal began to glow, and a white door formed within it. From that door stepped a female-presenting angel with dark skin and curls that cascaded down her shoulders, fading from a deep brown into a shimmering angelic gold. Immediately Crowley recognized her as the angel that had taken his call only a week before, and his eyes narrowed. The angel took in her surroundings, squinting in the dimmer light of the bookshop at the cluttered space. Finally, her eyes landed on Crowley, and a soft smile formed on her lips.

“Crowley?” she asked. He nodded.

“So this is Earth. I’ve never been before. It’s all so…” she hesitated, and Crowley frowned, expecting her to be like all the other angels who thought it was dirty, unholy,  _ flawed _ . “Lively,” she decided, “I see why you like it so much.”

Crowley’s frown wavered ever so slightly.

“I’m so sorry, Crowley. I should introduce myself. I’m Caliel.”

“I remember. We met.”

Caliel’s smile didn’t falter, but her features grew sad. Crowley didn’t like that at all.

“Yes, about all that. Crowley I-I know that Aziraphale trusts you. He talks about you every chance he gets, but the truth is, it’s in my blood to distrust you. W-We’re supposed to be enemies.”

The way she babbled through, uncertain but somehow hopeful, it reminded Crowley a lot of the way Aziraphale was when they’d first met. He’d never met another angel like that, not since the War.

“B-But again, I know he trusts you,” Caliel continued, tapping her fingers nervously against her leg, reminding Crowley of the way Aziraphale wrung his fingers when he was nervous. “So before I tell you anything, and we only have a short time, I need to know I can trust you. I need to know you have no intention of hurting Aziraphale or-or anyone else on our side –  _ his  _ side, that is. There’s been more than enough violence-“

“ _ Violensssse? _ ”

“Yes. But I can’t say anything more until I know you won’t hurt him, so just tell me the truth-“

Crowley’s heart was pounding, terrified of why she’d specified  _ violence _ . He knew one thing, though: he wouldn’t allow himself to be complicit in whatever harm was being done to Aziraphale any longer. With a thought, a piece of paper and pen appeared in Crowley’s hands.

“I’ll do you one better than telling you,” the demon assured, then signed his own version of the sigil of trust. It glowed with a confirmation that it would signal any deception, and he handed it to the awestruck angel.

“I swear I have no intention of harming Aziraphale, or anyone who intends to keep him safe,” Crowley’s promise caused the sigil to glow once more, a confirmation that his promise had been sealed.

Caliel looked surprised but nodded with new determination. She pulled open the door to Heaven and gestured for him to follow her into the narrow staircase that led to Heaven. Evidently, this wasn’t a main entrance to Heaven, but with a glance down at the note still gripped between his fingers, Crowley was able to confirm that her promise to cause him no harm hadn’t changed.

It was Caliel who eventually broke the silence that hung between them.

“How did you know how to draw that symbol. It wasn’t even invented until after the whole Falling bit. I wouldn’t have thought demons would care to invent their own. Deception is meant to be your thing, after all. Not  _ you  _ necessarily, but your side.”

In many ways, this angel reminded Crowley of Aziraphale, but he couldn’t deny she was incredibly more blunt. She did work for the department of truth though, didn’t she? Besides, as much as Crowley loathed to admit it, he respected it.

“I can see why you’re surprised,” Crowley replied. After all, drawing a sigil was about much more than learning to replicate how it looked. If that was all it took, humans would have figured out more of them a  _ long  _ time ago. There was a certain  _ intent  _ that needed to be pulled from within one’s essence in order to do it correctly. “The angel – Aziraphale, I mean – made me draw it when we played board games.”

Crowley hadn’t exactly been enthused at the idea of having to play fair, but it had been easy to learn that sigil for the first time, as it was tied to the knowledge that he’d be able to continue playing, no matter how annoyingly  _ fairly _ , with Aziraphale.

From behind, Crowley saw Caliel’s head cock to one side, confused.

“And what exactly is ‘board games’?”

Crowley stifled a snicker as Caliel held the door out of the staircase open for him, bowing his head to hide his expression as he sauntered past her.

“It’s, er, something human’s like to play. Long story.”

Caliel nodded, and took her place beside him as they made their way into a larger atrium beyond the narrow hallway.

“Well, you’re right that we don’t have a lot of time for it now, but once this is all sorted, you’ll have to show me this ‘board games’. Perhaps you and Aziraphale both can do it.”

Crowley’s amused expression fell, suddenly reminded of why they were there.

“Right, yeah. Maybe someday. First, you need to tell me what’s happening to Aziraphale.”

Caliel’s expression grew somber, and her nervous tapping resumed.

“Yes, well, I haven’t seen him for a few days, but I’m glad I got to speak with you. He’s being held here against his will. I have no idea how they got him to agree to come here willingly, but he’s mentioned your name before. Quite a lot, actually. I don’t think he realizes it, but he sometimes mumbles it when they’re…well...” she trailed off, voice caught in her throat.

“When  _ who  _ is doing  _ what _ ?” Crowley demanded. God, how was he just getting to his angel now?

Caliel stopped outside of a large white door, indistinguishable from the other ones lined along the atrium wall save for an opaque patch of wall framed like a window.

“He’s in here. I think you might want to figure out the rest yourself.”

Crowley nodded in agreement. His hand hovered over the door handle, but he was caught in a moment of hesitation.

“You should know, I don’t care how many angels come after me, I’m not leaving here again without him.”

Caliel nodded.

“I expected as much. I’ll be sure not to give you away if you agree not to tell anyone I was the one who led you here. I just couldn’t stand the violence any longer.”

“Deal,” Crowley said, holding out a hand. Caliel grasped it in return, and they shook.

“I, erg, s’pose I should say thanks for bringing me here.”

“Don’t thank me,” Caliel said, the nervous tapping Crowley had seen earlier all but gone. Her tone had taken on a confidence he hadn’t seen since they’d met. “I’m only doing what’s right.”

Crowley gave one last sharp nod, then turned and opened the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to those who stuck with me through this hell of a break.  
I know I said last chapter I'd be posting more, but summer school and quarantine hit me hard, and impacted my mental health more than I wanted to admit.  
I didn't edit this chapter as much as I usually edit my chapters for that reason, so I apologize if it wasn't very polished - but the next chapter is already written, so I'll try not to make you wait too long this time for another <3   
We're getting so close to the reunion, things will get better from here, I promise!


	11. Here in your Doorway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended song for this chapter is "This is Me Trying" by Taylor Swift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraiphale, with a fast update? I know it's a shock, but I promise I haven't been possessed.

Upon opening the white door, Crowley’s world narrowed to the small, broken figure sitting against the farthest wall. Aziraphale had chains around his neck and wrists, and every visible part of his body was littered with bruises varying in sickening shades of purple and yellow. Layered on top of these bruises were a number of angry red welts and poorly healed scabs. Many of these welts had begun to blister, and Crowley was hit with the horrifying realization that they were burns. Aziraphale was no longer wearing his beloved suit, or the plain white one Crowley had seen him in just a week ago. Instead, he wore a tattered, bloodied garment that Crowley suspected had been white at some point. Now, it was charred in places and ripped in others, and the whole thing had taken on the dirty, dark red tinge of dried blood. 

The angel’s eyes were closed, his head lolled to one side. Even in his seemingly half-conscious state, his expression was pinched, and a bruised hand lay protectively across the angel’s ribs. 

Crowley was at his side in seconds, the note he’d been cradling for the past week forgotten on the floor. He reached out for his angel, hands hovering over bruised skin as he looked for a place he could touch without causing more pain. Now that he was closer he noted a particularly horrible burn on the angel’s shoulder with crescent shaped indents in the slowly healing skin. It looked almost like the freshly healed injury had been torn through with fingernails.

Crowley’s mind suddenly flashed to the way the Replacement had gripped his angel’s shoulder during their call. Crowley had been so jealous, so terrified of what it had implied about his and Aziraphale’s relationship. That injury couldn’t have been there when they’d spoken, could it? He would have noticed if Aziraphale had been in pain, wouldn’t he?

By the way the marks were all laid over one another in horrible chronology, he knew there was no way he’d gotten  _ all  _ of these in just the week following their conversation. Aziraphale had been Up Here for  _ months.  _ How had he not bloody noticed?

Crowley’s shaking hand finally settled on the angel’s cheek, careful to avoid the bruising under his tired eyes.

“Angel,” It was a broken whisper.

Aziraphale stirred, seeming to regain awareness as he leaned into Crowley’s touch, but his eyes remained firmly shut.

“Angel, look at me, please.”

Aziraphale shook his head gently, instead reaching up a hand to lay atop Crowley’s.

“Can’t.” The angel’s voice was weak, gruff, as if from overuse.

_ He’s been screaming _ , Crowley realized, a fresh wave of horror washing over him.  _ He’s been tortured. _

“Why can’t you, angel?” The demon pressed, his hand gently stroking the angel’s cheek.

“Don’t wanna wake up. You’re never here anymore when I do. Lemme keep dreaming.”

Crowley gulped down the mix of emotions that threatened to pour from his lips.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said steadily. “It’s not a dream. I’m here. I’m sorry it took so long, but I’m here, angel.  _ Please,  _ open your eyes.”

Slowly, Aziraphale’s eyes blinked open, his brow scrunched in anticipation. As their eyes connected Crowley saw the momentary relief that flooded Aziraphale’s features.

It didn’t last long, and he raised bloodied hands to rub at his eyes.

“B-But you can’t be here. If you’re here it means I’ve failed you.”

Crowley shook his head, trying desperately to get Aziraphale to truly see him. Instead, the angel seemed to look right through him.

“You haven’t failed, angel. Not ever. I have. I failed  _ you. _ ”

Aziraphale’s brows knit together, a dissatisfied pout forming on his lips.

“Never,” the angel said softly, looking straight into Crowley’s eyes with a glassy expression. “You could  _ never  _ fail me. S’why I’m here.”

Crowley ignored the stinging in his eyes and pushed on.

“Why haven’t you healed yourself, angel? They tell you not to? You don’t have to listen to them, anymore. It’s just us. You can heal yourself.”

“Can’t,” Aziraphale responded, hands moving to tug at the monstrous chains hanging around his neck. It was at that moment that Crowley noticed the sigil carved into them, its glow faint against the bright white walls of Heaven. “Eth’real chains. No miracles.”

Rage bubbled in Crowley’s chest, threatening once more to spill over. Before he had Fallen, in the War, he’d been kept in chains like these. He was Raphael then, and had been one of the first “traitors” captured. It hadn’t exactly been difficult, as he’d refused to fight. All he’d ever wanted was an answer to his questions. He remembered being trapped, unable to fulfill his purpose – to heal – as more and more of his kind were imprisoned within those chains. Many of them were injured, they were trapped, exposed, unable to even hide their wings.

Wait.  _ His wings _ .

“Aziraphale, shouldn’t ethereal chains force your wings out?” 

Aziraphale looked up at him,  _ through _ him, and nodded.

“Angel, where are your wings?”

Aziraphale smiled ever so softly.

“Was worth it. To see you.”

“Aziraphale,  _ where are your wings _ ?”

Aziraphale shifted, trying to turn his body. Halfway through the movement, his breath caught and his hands moved to grip a bloody spot around his ribs. The demon reached out a hand to support Aziraphale’s back, but the angel let out a choked whimper the moment Crowley touched him.

Crowley pulled back his hand like it had been burnt, horrified to find it came away bloody. Realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he struggled to speak through the bowling-ball sized lump in his throat.

“Oh,  _ angel.  _ I-I’m so sorry. I never should have let this happen. I never should have doubted you.”

Aziraphale was trembling, biting his lip against what must have been an unimaginable amount of pain, but even so he shook his head vehemently. 

“No, my love. None of this was your doing.”

_ My love _ . Crowley suddenly felt lighter than air, those two simple words momentarily whisking him far away from this horror and to a place where the two of them were safe  _ together _ . It was Aziraphale’s soft, withdrawn whimper as he leaned back against the wall that brought Crowley crashing back down to reality. Aziraphale was in pain, he was delirious for fucks sake, he likely didn’t even know what he was saying. Once he was back on his feet and thinking straight again, he’d be embarrassed to have ever said anything like that to a demon. Especially one who had let him down so profoundly. Letting others Down (to Hell, that is) was literally in the job description.

“I’ve given you ev’ry reason to doubt me over the years,” Aziraphale continued, completely oblivious to Crowley’s momentary meltdown. “I couldn’t ever poss’bly make it up to you. This was the least I could do for you. I wanted -  _ n-needed _ to protect you. Lord, I hope m’ still protecting you,” his eyes were glassy and his voice slurred as he reached out a trembling hand to stroke the demon’s cheek. Crowley’s own hand met the angel’s, and he didn’t have the heart to interrupt this, whatever it was. “I hope, lord I  _ pray  _ that this is only a dream, dearest. I would never forgive myself if it weren’t.”

Crowley sucked in a breath, utterly confused and beyond concerned for the angel’s mental state.

“Angel, I - ngh, sorry, but what the hell are you on about? Ngk, you know what, it doesn’t matter. Can you walk?”

Aziraphale’s hand tensed slightly, and he furrowed his brows, confused. Crowley recognized the way the angel drew in on himself, just as he always did when he was uncertain about something. 

“Perhaps, b-but m’ not going anywhere,” the angel said slowly. “Won’t you just... bring me some sushi... ‘nd just hold me like you usually do in my dreams? It’s far less stressful, ‘nd-“

“Angel, it isn’t a dream,” Crowley snapped, no longer able to reign in his frustration. He knew the angel was delirious, but why couldn’t he understand that Crowley really was here to rescue him? “I’m here to take you home, angel.  _ Please,  _ let me take you away from here.”

The demon’s sudden change in tone appeared to awaken something in Aziraphale, and he quickly pulled his hand away. His brows remained furrowed in confusion, but his eyes suddenly grew wide and fearful. 

“No, Crowley. Even in my dreams I can’t afford to entertain the thought of leaving. I-I’ll be here for eternity, there’s no use in imagining myself rescued when – when it’s the last thing I want. No. No matter if you’re a-a dream, or if you’re real, I need you to leave now,  _ please _ . I j’st… need you to be safe, ‘nd-‘nd happy. Even when ‘m not there. I’ll manage just fine on my own.” The slur in the angel’s voice was becoming more pronounced, and Crowley was beginning to fear that the steady drip of blood from Aziraphale’s back onto the floor was putting him at serious risk of discorporation. _ Shit.  _ He needed to hurry. Why was the angel being so bloody stubborn?

Maybe with his angelic powers back, Aziraphale would be able to see reason.

“I’m going to remove these chains, okay? I’ve never – Well, I’ve never exactly taken these things off before. By the time I had mine off in the War I had already Fallen, but I’m sure your powers will just uh… come back. Then I can just miracle us both home, alright?”

Aziraphale shook his head firmly and squeezed his eyes shut. With one hand he grasped at his forehead while the other was held up to put distance between himself and Crowley.

“Crowley… ‘m not leaving. I can’t…won’t ‘ndanger you…like that.” He was struggling with each word, but his insistence, his damn stubbornness, still shone on his pained features.

“Ergh, Aziraphale, you’ve lost your bloody wings. You’re on the brink of bollocking discorporation and you can’t even bloody fucking heal yourself. We’re going,” Crowley spoke through clenched teeth. No matter how stubborn the bastard was being, Crowley knew this wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault. He couldn’t let his anger damage Aziraphale more than he already had been. The demon made an effort to soften his features, to ignore the way his chest constricted and to rub a gentle hand through the angel’s curls. “Please, angel?”

Even so, the angel shook his head stubbornly. He attempted to shift away from Crowley’s touch, but groaned and doubled over at the sudden change in position.

Fine. Maybe Aziraphale wasn’t going to make this easy for him, but he could get those chains off on his own. Then maybe Aziraphale would be able to think more clearly.

With a snap of his fingers, the chains unlocked and clattered to the marble floor. Aziraphale moved as if electrified, trying to grasp at the chains on the floor. Before he was able to reach them, however, a bright light struck the angel from above.

His angelic powers had hit him, literally, and for a moment he was paralyzed before he began to convulse under their sudden power. A pained cry erupted from the angel’s lips, sounding like it was coming from both his corporeal and ethereal forms at once.

Crowley reached out for his angel, desperate to touch him, to hold him, but when their skin connected it  _ burned _ . He pulled away in shock, looking down at his palm to find it had turned an ugly shade of red. Small blisters were forming on his skin from contact with Aziraphale’s raw holy power.

The demon shook his head, reminding himself that it was nothing compared to all that Aziraphale had gone through. Within seconds, the light had begun to fade, and the angel’s convulsing slowed. Crowley reached out once more and carefully grasped Aziraphale’s arm, relieved that it no longer hurt to do so.

Aziraphale blinked up at Crowley, their eyes connecting in a moment of mutual desperation.

“M’not worth it, Cr’wley,” the angel slurred, a tear sliding down his cheek, “Please, go…”

The angel’s eyes fluttered closed, and Crowley realized that he was wavering in just enough time to get his arms around him before he fainted. With Aziraphale,  _ finally,  _ safely in his arms, Crowley snapped his fingers and took them both home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all my readers, your support truly means the world to me. I hope this lived up to your reunion dreams!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are more than welcome, and if you ever want to chat with me feel free to check me out on tumblr, my username is the same as on here :)


	12. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended song: No Plan by Hozier

White walls disappeared around him, replaced in a flash with the plain grey walls of Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Aziraphale  _ (bloodied, beaten, burnt) _ was a deadweight in Crowley’s arms as he stumbled toward his bedroom. He laid the angel ( _ injured, broken, tortured _ ) clumsily on the bed, his head pounding from the power it had taken to perform a transportation miracle all the way from Heaven _ (Where they’d tortured him, alone, screaming, all alone) _ . The demon took a shaky breath in, trying to calm himself. Aziraphale needed him  _ (had always needed him. But Crowley had left him. All alone) _ . 

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, scrubbing a tired hand over them, trying to pull his attention from the pain in his head and the incessant thoughts pulling him in every direction. He needed to get a hold of himself, but the moment he opened his eyes he was met again with the bleeding and terribly injured angel in his bed  _ (alone for months, tortured, beaten,  _ screaming _ ) _ . He reached up, surprised to find that his cheeks were wet.

_ Tears,  _ he realized belatedly, he was  _ crying  _ for fucks sake. _ (Aziraphale had been crying. Crying as he told Crowley to leave him there, bleeding and alone, because he wasn’t worth it) _ . 

Crowley heard the sound of his glasses shattering against the wall before he realized he was the one responsible for throwing them as hard as he could across the room. A quick glance over to the angel confirmed that he was still very much asleep.

_ Not asleep _ , his mind quickly corrected,  _ unconscious _ . He’d lost a lot of blood Up There  _ (because they’d beaten him, tortured him, taken his wings. They  _ took _ his wings) _ . Crowley shook his head forcefully, desperate to rid himself of the memories of his mistake. Right now, he needed to focus on the angel, and there was one thing he could do now that they were far away from those blinding white walls. Crowley fell to his knees beside the bed, careful  _ (so, so careful) _ as he laid his hands on the angel’s back. He didn’t have much power left in him after the miracle from Heaven, but he wouldn’t let Aziraphale discorporate now, not after he finally had him back.

With the sheer determination and a healthy amount of fury directed toward Heaven, Crowley was able to close the wounds on the angel’s back. They weren’t healed, but at least they would stop bleeding. He surveyed the rest of Aziraphale’s body, looking for any other bleeding wounds. When they were safely closed, and the angel no longer at immediate risk of discorporation, Crowley used the very last of his demonic energy to snap his fingers and change Aziraphale out of that god-awful bloodied garment and into a pair of his own black silk pyjamas. He didn’t have the energy to adjust their size, but they fit Aziraphale’s emaciated frame  _ (Starved, alone, stuck in a body he’d never choose for himself).  _

With a steadying breath, Crowley pulled the blanket over his angel’s shoulders, tucking him in ever so gently. He leaned forward, running his fingers through blood-slicked curls, and whispered in the angel’s ear. 

“I’m so sorry, angel. You know me, not one for apologizing. Bloody embarrassing, that is. But you deserve to hear it. I’m so, so sorry. You’re safe now. I won’t leave you again. I promise, alright? You’re safe here.”

_ “M’not worth it, Cr’wley. Please, go…”  _

The angel’s words echoed in his mind. The words that had confused him more than any of Aziraphale’s nonsensical rambling. Aziraphale had asked Crowley to go, to leave him.  He didn’t understand why Aziraphale, knowing that there was a way out – not just of Heaven, but of the pain, the torture – had refused. Crowley had been hurt, devastated when Aziraphale told him months ago that he was returning to Heaven, but he’d understood. In fact, it was that understanding that had hurt the most. 

Being a demon, he’d had his own share of wanting Heaven to accept him back. He’d hated the rejection, and had been willing to forgive the pain of Falling in order to be accepted back into Heaven. The thing was that no matter the pain he’d gone through when he Fell, they’d never done anything this horrendous to him. He would never forget the fear and the pain as his wings had blackened, but he’d never had them ripped from his back. He’d hated being imprisoned and afraid during the War, but once he was in chains they’d let him be. He was never tortured, he was never alone. Everything they’d put Aziraphale through made the Fall, and even Hell itself look like a walk in the bloody park.

So why had the angel wanted to stay? Aziraphale had said he would be there for eternity, and it didn’t sound like he expected to be reinstated as an agent of Heaven. Even if that were the case, his angel was far too hedonistic to put up with that much discomfort, let alone outright torture, just to be accepted back under bloody Gabriel’s wings. It just didn’t make any sense. He knew Heaven was manipulative, he knew they made the angel doubt himself when he shouldn’t, but this was on another level, one that Crowley simply couldn’t understand. 

He felt the rage towards Heaven building up in his chest again, and the last thing he wanted was to shock Aziraphale’s fragile form with another outburst, even if it was aimed at his wall. Instead, the demon took a deep breath and decided that if he wanted to help Aziraphale heal more thoroughly, he would need some backup. 

He would never admit it, but Crowley knew he had allies – friends – here on Earth. Maybe the witch would have something that could help him heal Aziraphale, and there was no one else who would be able to help him with the wounds to his Ethereal form where he’d lost his wings better than Anathema. 

With one final steadying breath, and a press of his lips to the angel’s forehead, Crowley got to his feet and headed to the other room to give the witch a call. 

***

Aziraphale woke to the feeling of a soft mattress beneath him. For a moment, he was sure he was dreaming, but the pain of his injuries made him doubt that. He rarely maintained his injuries in his dreams. Except for that strange dream he’d had of Crowley… so soft, so gentle, so kind. His gentle hands on Aziraphale’s cheeks, assuring him that he was real, that Crowley was going to – 

Aziraphale’s eyes shot open, the memory of everything that had happened washing over him. He wasn’t in Heaven, this was Crowley’s flat, Crowley’s bed. The demon had come to save him, he’d removed the chains, he’d taken him away from Heaven.

Suddenly Aziraphale felt as though he couldn’t breathe. Oh, Crowley, dear Crowley. He was putting himself in danger and he didn’t even know. Aziraphale had failed him, and if anything happened to Crowley while he was  _ sleeping  _ of all things, it would be all his fault. He needed to get back to Heaven before they noticed he was gone. Who knew what kind of safe-guards they had in place to sense his absence. His body still ached, but he pushed himself into a seated position. He looked down at himself, noting the change in clothes. He would need to get that garment back, and get himself back to Heaven before the day of rest ended. 

He could hear the demon talking on the phone in the other room, so he knew he had to be quick and quiet. The first thing Aziraphale tried was to return himself miraculously to Heaven. He snapped his fingers, hoping to get himself straight back to his prison, but instead of being transported, his head began pounding with a sudden and unbearable pain. He doubled over, seeing stars. He bit down roughly on his lip to keep himself quiet. 

The warmth of Her light had returned when Crowley had removed the chains, but it hadn’t been the gentle warmth he was used to. Instead, he remembered being hit with an unbearable burning heat in the centre of his head. She’d been pent up and caged inside of him for so long that he no longer knew how to communicate with Her now that She was free. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure that she  _ was  _ free. It felt as though there was an electrified fence between them, stopping him, hurting him when he tried to reach out. He could see Her now, feel Her, but he just couldn’t reach Her anymore, and when he tried he was met with the burning shock of that electrified fence.

No matter. He would find a way to get to Heaven without miracles. He had to. Poor Crowley had probably thought Aziraphale was there unwillingly when he’d come to rescue him. He’d thought his lies had been convincing, but his clever demon had seen right through his mask. So, just as he always did, Crowley showed up just on time to save the day. Surely once he found out what danger Aziraphale was putting him in, he would allow Aziraphale to return to Heaven. He would simply ask Caliel to leave a note for Crowley explaining it once Aziraphale was back in Heaven and Crowley was safe. 

Lord, if he had simply kept his wits about himself they wouldn’t be in this mess at all, but he had let a silly pair of wings distract him, and now Crowley was the one who would suffer for it. Aziraphale pulled himself from his thoughts, noting that the pounding in his head had subsided slightly. 

With a deep breath, Aziraphale decided to push himself out of bed. He would simply need to exit from the window, then he could fly – wait, no. He couldn’t do that either. Blast. No matter. He would have to climb down the high-rise somehow and catch a bus – no, he had no money – then he would simply have to walk to the closest Heavenly entrance and go from there. He knew a miracle wasn’t possible, but through the electric fence in his mind Aziraphale prayed that he would be able to return to Heaven without Crowley getting hurt.

Aziraphale had barely managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed when a small chime sounded beside him, followed by the overwhelming smell of violets. Gabriel. 

He didn’t get the chance to push himself out of bed before the archangel had grabbed a fistful of his hair. Aziraphale stifled a shocked cry as Gabriel bent down beside him, yanking his head by his hair until the two of them were eye to eye.

“It’s nice to see you again, Traitor. You really thought it’d be that easy to get away?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I've been managing to update so regularly. The next chapter is already written and in the editing phase, so it should be out in the next week or so, but after that I'm still working to draft the next chunk, so we'll see if I can keep up this consistency lol.  
Thanks as always for reading, your comments keep me going!

**Author's Note:**

> Big HUGE thanks to my wonderful beta [sometimesineffable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeseffable/pseuds/sometimeseffable) without whom I couldn't have done this. If you enjoyed this I highly recommend you check out her fics - she's an incredible writer!  
I also wanted to shout out my wonderful roommate [Ameera](https://uncletakumi.tumblr.com/) for supporting me as I've been writing, and for constantly calling the archangels the Blessed Bois™ and once even calling them Gabriel and the Gucci Gang  
If you liked this, please leave a koodos or a comment, it means a lot!  
And if you want to keep up with updates, or follow me elsewhere, check out my [Tumblr](http://aziraiphale.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, if you're interested in my ineffable playlist that helps me write, you can check it out on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7K5JtrZ6IVLE3FRQF0CyRF?si=GYSyHRY7RLKdrOSaK3SwOg)


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